 
Colin and The Rise of The House of Horwood

by

M.E. Eadie

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PUBLISHED BY:

ADAM BOOKS on Smashwords

Colin and The Rise of The House of Horwood

Copyright 2008 by M.E. Eadie

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One: Shadow Nix

Chapter Two: Pansy Patch Park

Chapter Three: Horwood House

Chapter Four: The Bank and The School

Chapter Five: Ofelia

Chapter Six: New Skills

Chapter Seven: Seven for Dinner

Chapter Eight: Waking Dreams

Chapter Nine: Slumber and Soccer

Chapter Ten: The Wind

Chapter Eleven: Costumes

Chapter Twelve: First Game

Chapter Thirteen: Maestro

Chapter Fourteen: The Clown Master

Chapter Fifteen: The Debate

Chapter Sixteen: Dad

Chapter Seventeen: Confrontation

Chapter Eighteen: Jaeger

Chapter Nineteen: The Return

Chapter One: Shadow Nix

On a tiny blade of grass, a dewdrop rested. Within its watery sphere there was a billowing, black cloud. Sometimes it just floated; at other times it gave the impression of becoming big enough to break out. Jim Thunder had to find out what this vision meant because his old body was dying. Beneath him he could feel the earth's rhythm, its pulsating heart. He slipped into the dewdrop and around him a light blazed. Squinting from its intensity he watched as the black cloud dispelled. Then the dewdrop went blank.

Jim rolled away exhausted from the effort, and stared up at the sunless sky. It was always sunless; _Inbetween_ , but that didn't bother him. He wondered at the vision he had just seen. What could it mean? He sighed. In the end, even though he could see so much, there was very little he could do. True, he could suggest here, tweak there, but in the end it was free will that would reign. No matter how much persuasive talent he had, it was a person's free will that mattered. It was what made people so magnificent. It was what made living so interesting. A person with free will could do anything! It had to be, because to take free will away was tyranny. It was so simple and so elusive in its nature that most people missed it. Only in the plain clarity of a young mind could it be fully understood: in that way, bad was always bad with no shades of gray.

Soon he would have to return from _Inbetween_ to the floor of his tent, return to his body lying there, barely breathing. It had taken years to learn how to separate his spirit from his body, to view the visions available in this sunless place. And there were certain dangers being _Inbetween_ , between the worlds: there were those who guarded this place jealously, and others who wanted most desperately to leave it. If the Shadow Nixes caught him here, they could tear his spirit from his body and leave him eternally floating between the worlds, neither here, nor there, neither alive nor dead.

Jim scanned the skies for any black dots that would signal the arrival of the Shadow Nixes and decided to take one last look into the dewdrop. The swirling cloud of inky darkness flooded back into the dewdrop, and, he nearly panicked. He thought it was gone, but obviously it was back. A sensation of being pulled away came over him and he knew his body was calling him back. He struggled to collect his wits, to remain _Inbetween_ , to pursue the vision to its end.

He was now within the cloud itself, the very heart of evil. A face took form, the face of a man, his complexion a sickly shade of ashen white. Within the two dark pits of his eye sockets, black marbles glittered threateningly. There were many other eyes all around him, but they just watched, but the man's eyes darted about, looking for something, someone. Then they found him, fixed on him, and then moved on, eyes returning to their intense, desperate search. Jim felt spiny prickles of fear crawling up the nape of his neck. He knew the man. His name was Zuhayer Bombast Horwood and he had been dead for years, or so he thought.

The vision was now replaced by another, a boy, disheveled dark hair hanging about his face, was struggling to catch a soccer ball. He kept missing, but would not give up. Jim smiled. He knew this boy. He had taken care of him since he was a baby, but what did Colin have to do with the black cloud?

The scene changed again. A girl replaced the boy. Her glowing orange-gold hair flaming in the dewdrop. A spray of mischievous freckles covered her cheeks and ran up over the bridge of her nose. Although she looked wild, he could sense there was an inner calm, a dynamic red courage that was unmistakable.

Then all the images were gone, and he was simply staring at a limpid dewdrop. He turned away letting his spirit return to his body. Even though things were uncertain, there was one thing clear, these two young people were in grave danger.

***

Kicking the ball with a fierce energy, Colin sent it spinning through the air. At least there was some satisfaction in that. Kicking was the best part of the game. Since it was a given that they were going to lose, it probably made sense to put their worst player in net. Not even that bothered him, because every time his foot came in contact with the ball, it was like kicking away a piece of himself, a piece he didn't like, and it was strangely gratifying.

He had plenty of opportunities to kick the ball, because it had been buried in the net behind him so often. Surging down the left side of the field, the orange and blue stripes of the other team were coming again, passing back and forth with adroit skill. His own blue-shirted side was not having much effect in stopping the onslaught, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the other team scored again.

"Get off the line! Get off the line!" screamed the coach, Justine Bone, his swollen, beet-red face threatening to burst.

Colin glanced down at the white chalk line he had been standing on, and wondered what the big, beefy man was yelling about. Wasn't he supposed to stand on the line? Distracted by the perplexing yells of the coach, he felt the soughing wind as the ball whizzed past him, saw the agonized, defeated faces of his teammates. He tried to ignore the, now apoplectic, coach jumping up and down on the sideline. Mercifully, the final long whistle went and the game was at an end.

It was the walk of shame off the field, but Colin figured a little bit of shame was the price of playing. He knew too much of what it was to be excluded. If he wanted a normal life, a life other kids took for granted, he would just have "to brass it out," as Sergeant Peary would say. Unfortunately, Sergeant Peary was just a comic book character -- or a voice in his head.

"Come on! Come on!" squawked Edge like a chicken. The coach's son, his face jabbing intrusively into Colin's space, was a miniature version of his father, quick to anger and slow in thought.

"Where are we going?" mumbled Colin unable to pass up the opportunity to taunt the thick-featured Edge.

"What do you mean?" the boy's beady eyes went hard, his breath smelling of sports drink and oranges, "Maybe next time you can let in six instead of seven! But wait, there won't be a next time!"

From previous experience he knew it was best not to taunt Edge. Even as slow as he was, he would eventually understand, and along with understanding came revenge. Colin fought down the urge to point out that most of the goals were caused by Edge's unwillingness to pass the ball, but he just shrugged. When he reached the point where everyone was gathered in front of the furious coach, Colin prudently continued to stare at his feet. He found that if you looked at someone who was angry, looked them in the eyes, you became a target. He saw something glittering on the ground: a dewdrop on a blade of grass.

Scowling, Mr. Bone jabbed a thick, sausage-like finger towards Colin's chest and started in on him. "What were you doing out there? You call that net minding? My arthritic Grandma could do better than that! If we weren't short, I'd sit you on the sideline where you belong. Boy! Whatever possessed you to think you could play this game?"

The coach went on, and on, and Colin felt the heat of embarrassment rising into his face. Eventually, the man would vent enough steam that his swollen head would begin to deflate and then he would find someone else to pick on, or better still, he would just go away.

There was a self-satisfied, haughty smirk on Edge's face, as if he was about to say: "I told you so. I told you we shouldn't have let him play. I can spot a weirdo, a loser anytime. He's not one of us."

Colin merely shrugged looking down at his untied shoelaces. Of course he wasn't like them. His clothes were different, his shoes were old and he lived in a tent, but it didn't stop him from wanting friends and wanting to play games that others played. It had seemed like a logical thing, telling the coach he knew how to play. Even though his little lie didn't seem very bad, he regretted having told it. But, how else was he going to get to play? And he wanted to play more than anything. It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Standing in front of the coach, he felt Mr. Bone's hot breath, like the fetid inside of some musty cavern, blowing on his face. He waited for a pause in the man's blustering. Eventually he would stop -- or blow up. He was beginning to hope for the latter to occur.

"You leave me no choice," said the harsh, but fractionally mollified, voice. "I'm going to have to ask you to hand in your shirt and leave the team."

Colin looked up askance. Boy, did Edge and his father ever think alike! "But, coach, this is the last game of the season. Don't we all have to hand in our shirts?"

"Don't talk back to me! Now, give me the shirt," snapped Mr. Bone, insulted by the boy's impertinence. His bald head, sweaty and red, shimmered in the evening sun as he thrust out a meaty hand, thick fingers twitching.

Colin pulled the sweater over his head, revealing his red, yellow, blue and green shirt beneath. Edge snickered. It didn't bother Colin; he liked the colours and so did his aunt, which was strange, because she only wore black. The only complaint he had was that it made him stand out. It was hard to be invisible when you were glowing with colour. He pulled a matching toque over his head, and felt everybody's eyes on him.

"Hey, Rainbow, did you're mommy buy your clothes?" snickered Edge, his voice accompanied by a few other derisive laughs.

Colin slid his sunglasses onto his face, "Actually, my mother is dead, and my aunt made them from the hair of animals you've never seen." It was true, and the truth broadsided Edge into silence. At that moment his irritation with Edge disappeared, because on the ground, just in front of him, a black dot was beginning to form. He knew exactly what it meant, and what was coming. Quickly he tossed the sweater at Mr. Bone and walked briskly away. He wasn't particularly concerned about the comments anymore; it was the dot he was running from -- the Shadow Nix.

"Boy, do you understand me? Boy?" called out the coach, hoping his message hadn't been misunderstood. The last thing he needed was the kid showing up next year expecting to play.  
Colin understood the coach perfectly; however, he had more important concerns to deal with at the moment.

"Rusty, leave him be," called out Mr. Bone.

There was a flash of red hair and the sound of running feet and the breath of someone trying to catch up to him, then settling in beside him, matching his striding paces. If he refused to look at the girl, she'd go away.

"Don't listen to Egg Head. He's all bluster. In fact I've been meaning to thank you."

Colin glanced at her, perplexed and confused; for a moment he forgot about the black dot that was following him. "I don't know what you're talking about." He noticed how a spray of red freckles bridged over her nose. Her hair wasn't rust colored at all -- it was like a golden flame. Why did they call her Rusty? He looked back down at his feet and tried not to stumble.

"Before you came along I used to be Egg Head's victim," she said grinning.

"Why you?" stuttered Colin disbelieving. "You're really good."

"I'm a girl. Haven't you noticed there are no other girls on the team? Where are you going?"

"I'm going home," and "of course I noticed," said Colin wondering why she was insisting on following him.

"Mind if I come along?"

Colin panicked, feeling the black dot behind him. He could sense it, feel it with his mind. It had grown legs and was now increasing its pace in an attempt to catch up to him. He could feel its blackness, its absence of being as though it was there and yet not there, extending, trying to catch him. If he didn't pick up his speed, it would overtake him, and that would not be good. This was how bad things always started: with a black dot that would grow into a Shadow Nix. Something nasty was about to happen, and it was trying to happen to him!

"I really have to go home now," he said breaking into a full run.

Even though Rhea Li wanted to get to know the strange boy, sprinting after him seemed a little too desperate a measure. So, she stopped and watched as he ran away, fascinated by this odd boy, and wondering when he was going to trip on the flapping laces of his untied trainers.

Colin hazarded a glance over his shoulder to see if the Shadow Nix was gaining on him, when in fact his feet did tangle up with his laces and he pitched forward onto his face. He fell headlong into a concealing hedge in front of a series of low-income row houses. He rolled onto his back and stared between his feet. He had only made it to the other side of the field; off in the distance his teammates were still watching his embarrassment. The Shadow Nix wasn't coming for him! It was pursuing Rhea. Cloaked and cowled like a monk, it was now more solid in form; it floated above the ground, turning the grass underneath it into a sickly gray. He swallowed hard.

A voice, like rocks grinding against each other, barked in the back of his head. It was the voice of Sergeant Peary: "Diversionary tactic! Buy some time! You've got to help the girl! DO IT, NOW!"

Colin scrambled to his feet, and without any thought for himself, raced back to Rhea. She was unaware of the threat stalking her. The Shadow Nix was now as large as Rhea. In fact it was an exact duplicate of her and was moving to overtake her. If the shadow did so, a multitude of things could happen, none of which were good. He must distract the shadow long enough until it ran out of time. From dot to Shadow Nix, the thing had only two or three minutes to find a victim, to attach to someone. If it didn't do it in that time, it would simply disappear.

"Rhea!" he yelled, running at her.

She turned to face him, a perplexed and querulous expression on her face. "Colin?"

"Don't just stand there!" he said, dancing about her, waving his hands. "Move!" The Shadow Nix had an easier time attaching itself if its victim wasn't moving. Rhea stared at him like he was a lunatic, but that was understandable, considering the circumstances. And since it was hard enough finding a friend, let alone one that was nice to him, he knew he must save her from harm.

Colin dodged between her and the shadow, confusing it and providing a protective barrier for Rhea. For some reason, the shadow wasn't after him this time, or so he thought; then the edge of the shadow began to fluctuate, becoming soft, and then it took on a different edge and dashed at him. Colin went from chasing the shadow to being chased by it, from protecting Rhea to using her as a shield. Then again it reversed and went after Rhea. Colin, in his awkward dance, caught one of Rhea's elbows in the face, hard enough so that his nose started to bleed. Skipping and waving his hands in the air, he felt a bit like a fool, but the tactic was working.

"Weird," muttered Mr. Bone in fearful disgust beneath his breath, watching the two on the other side of the field. As the strange boy danced around Rhea, waving his arms. The kid was beyond strange, should be locked away, out of the sight of decent folk, he thought. There had to be something mentally wrong with the kid. It was a gut feeling he prided himself on, knowing when someone was different. "Oh, jeez," he muttered, knowing he was eventually going to have to get involved. Rhea was not only one of his players, but she had an influential parent, an Educational Psychologist or something. He didn't like getting involved, not in situations that he couldn't control, and this was one of those questionable situations. He wouldn't mind slapping a few of the kids, now and then, but he had no desire to get in trouble with the law.

"Hey! Leave Rusty alone. Get out of here, boy!" His yell had no effect, and the boy continued to jump about wildly. "Edge," he said to his son, "keep the team together. I'm going to see what's going on." He began to trundle across the field to where Rhea and Colin were, as fast as his blocky frame could carry him.

Colin lunged to the side, just missing Rhea and deflecting the Shadow Nix again. Rhea flinched confusedly trying to get the handkerchief, that had been tied around her neck, onto his bleeding nose. At first she had been too bewildered by Colin's actions to try it, but strangely enough, she was getting used to his bizarre behavior, it was oddly endearing, and of course, she felt bad about smashing him in the nose. She waved the handkerchief at him as he dashed by.

"Here, take this! You're getting blood all over the place. If you don't stop moving, you'll never get it to -- stop that!" she yelled out as Colin spun away from her attempts to stop the bleeding. She swung at him again trying to shove the handkerchief at his nose, and hit him in the eye, smashing his sunglasses.

"Oww," he said, dancing to the side.

"Sorry, but you'll have to stop moving!"

He knew that the moment he stopped, the Shadow Nix would grab one of them. Before he could get in the way again, the Shadow Nix slipped by him and almost brushed up against Rhea. He gasped and threw himself at her knocking her to the ground. "Sorry!" he said springing to his feet and looking about wildly for the Nix.

Rhea shook her head, not offended by the bump or the tumble; she had gotten far worse playing soccer with boys. What disturbed her was the gentle flutter she had felt against the skin of her arm, the cold fear it caused inside her. She rubbed the point of near contact as though she was trying to warm away frostbite. Feeling dreadfully light headed, as though the sun had momentarily been shut off and a great black cloud threatened to overwhelm the pair of them, she bent forward and let the blood rush to her head.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"Shadow Nix: It's trying to get us," groaned Colin, slipping around her in a circle, trying to elude the spectral form again. He knew she wouldn't understand, but could think of nothing else to say.

She was about to say "The what?" but then saw something, an undulating wave, distorting the air like the rising heat from an asphalt road in the summer. Within the wave a black dot appeared, growing steadily larger, expanding outwards, taking the shape of a complete shadow, the black dilating cavity of an arm distorting, elongating like a snake, reaching for her. She gasped in horror. Colin stepped between them, and the thing hesitated, changed, and went after him. Fortunately, it seemed to be slow, as if some great ponderous weight was holding it back.

"I...I...can see it!" stuttered Rhea, eyes wide, "What is it?"

He dodged. "A Shadow Nix," repeated Colin. "Don't let it touch you, whatever you do." Then he tripped again on his untied shoelaces. Falling hard onto the grass, the wind was pressed painfully out of his lungs; but he managed to push himself upright. The shadow was just about to wrap itself around a horrified Rhea who seemed unable to move. It stopped as though thinking, then suddenly inflated, growing in size, turned and plunged into the oncoming, stomping form of the red faced Mr. Bone. The Shadow Nix slipped into the coach as though it was fitting a suit, and apparently, disappeared. The big man halted, wavered on his feet, and lifted a thick hand to wipe his forehead. His face went from red to a peculiar sickly shade of green. "Rhea, are you all right?" said Mr. Bone, wobbling as though he was on a ship in a rough sea.

Rhea nodded. "Yeah, nothing wrong here. Colin was just showing me the latest dance moves," she lied. She continued to hop around waving her hands in the air. "Aren't they like really rad?"

"Right," said the coach doubtfully, but sedately. He wavered again and put his hands out to maintain his balance. "I don't seem to be feeling so good. Let's go home." His shoulders slouched as he ambled off the field.

Colin got to his feet and Rhea instinctively reached for his nose, covering it with the handkerchief. "Mom says never leave home without one of these. It's got a hundred and one uses."

"Tanks."

The bleeding had stopped, but he put the cloth over his nose anyway. It felt awkward, someone being nice to him.

"What's going to happen to him?" asked Rhea. The coach's broad shoulders continued to sag.

"I don't know," answered Colin. "I've never seen one do that before. Usually they attach themselves to a person like a shadow, not slip inside them. Sometimes, a Shadow Nix can make people really depressed. I don't know much about them, just enough to know they aren't good. Grandfather Thunder says they're a type of ghost that wants to live again, but they can't do it by themselves."

"That's eerie. Normally, I'd say you're nuts, but I saw it, like a black sheet or something," said Rhea much too brightly. "Who's Grandfather Thunder?"

"A friend. I better get going." Colin was staring down at his trainers, trying not to look Rhea in the eyes, trying to find a way to end the uncomfortable feeling that was growing inside him.

"My mom is an educational psychologist. She would love to hear about these Nixes and she'd love to talk to your Grandfather. You know...," she stuttered, trying to voice her next thought, "it was trying to get one of us, wasn't it?"

Colin nodded. "It was after me, but because you tried to help me, it went after you. Listen, I've got to go home now." He was feeling more and more uncomfortable, not because of the subject, but because he had never made friends with anyone on the _outside_ that could see anything. He felt excited . . . and confused.

"Where do you live?" Rhea asked.

Colin was afraid she was going to ask this. He disliked having to lie. Shrugging, he just said, "Around."

Rhea watched as Colin turned and walked away, the blood-spattered handkerchief still held to his nose. Deciding she wasn't through, she ran after him, catching up to him. "School starts tomorrow. Which school are you going to?"

Colin stopped, hoping she wouldn't persist in following him all the way home. He shrugged. "What school are you going to?"

"High View. What about you?"

"Same." It didn't matter if he lied. He'd probably never see her again, not after his aunt found out what he had been doing.

"See you tomorrow."

Colin waved. "Yeah, see you tomorrow," he said a bit despondently.

Chapter Two: Pansy Patch Park

Colin backtracked twice, like Grandfather Thunder had taught him, making sure nobody was following. He was especially careful because he didn't want to give his aunt any more reasons to deny him access to the outside. As it was, he was on tenderhooks with her. One more slip and he'd end up like Spike, confined to Pansy Patch Park indefinitely.

From his vantage, on the cusp of the old riverbank, he was able to scan the park through the trees. In this way he was able to make sure it was clear. Not too many people frequented Pansy Patch Park because it was haunted. It wasn't really haunted; they just wanted it to seem that way, making it easier for them to come and go. As he waited, Colin's eyes went to the sunlight bouncing in splashes off the little river and creek that made Pansy Patch an island. The ever-constant sound of the running water, the detritus smell of the earth, the gentleness of the unseen wind, were comforting. The rich autumnal smells of coming fall swirled about him. Soon the time of change would be upon them, and they would get ready to leave. They would board Grandfather Thunder's houseboat and sail somewhere else. The only problem was, this time; he didn't want to leave.

He slid down the slope on the dead leaves. At the bottom he approached the little bridge that spanned the creek. Suddenly, the wind picked up, assaulting him from the front and blowing cold against his face. The obnoxious clattering of a bone rattle filled the air. Adrenaline shot through his body, but did so needlessly. Rolling his eyes, he shouted, "Come on Spike! Is that the best you can do?"

A disembodied head materialized, floating in the air in front of him. Spike had nut-brown skin, sandy-colored hair that was tied back in its usual ponytail. He stuck out his tongue in distaste. His nose crinkled: a trait that revealed thought, humour, or irritation or a combination of the three.

"Aunt Grizzelda wants me to use traditional methods to scare people off. She says it's more natural. If it were up to me, I'd love to get my hands on a few cherry bombs! You wouldn't...the next time you're out...would you mind picking..."

"No way! Are you kidding? If she catches me, we'll both be stuck"

Spike gave a mild grunt, "At least I wouldn't be alone. So, how was it?" continued Spike enviously, a body joining his head. "Did you win?"

He always asked the same question and each time Colin gave him the same answer, "No, we lost." Colin didn't want to go into detail describing his less than stellar performance in net. "The coach kicked me off the team."

"You're that good, eh? So, did you get it?" asked Spike anxiously rubbing his hands together.

Colin reached inside his jacket, grateful for not having to talk about the game, and pulled out a comic book. He looked around guiltily, then unrolled it and gazed down admiringly at his hero. Sergeant Peary was holding a blazing machine gun in one arm while protecting a curly-headed blond girl with the other. Clenched and smoldering between his grimacing teeth was a stubby cigar. In a bubble above his head were the words: EAT LEAD YOU DIRTY NAZIS!

"Awesome!" said Spike. "What's a Nazi?"

"I don't have a clue," answered Colin. When he bought the comic it hadn't seemed important, but now he wondered about it.

"Open it up. What's the story about?" urged Spike.

"Yes, do tell. What's the story about?" said a cold, reptilian voice over their shoulders as a bony hand, complete with long claws masquerading as painted fingernails, shot down and tore the comic from their fingers.

Grizzelda, looking down her aquiline nose, regarded them as if they were twin insects. Her piercing dark eyes gave the impression of a set of laser beams slicing to pieces anything that met her disapproving gaze. When she regarded you, it was like being examined, taken apart, one piece at a time. Spike swallowed hard and turned pale.

"It's Colin's," he confessed. "I had nothing to do with it!" he said imploringly, hoping Colin would forgive him.

Colin glared at his friend. Even though they both called Grizzelda their Aunt, she was Colin's real aunt with the full weight of unrealistic expectation. Spike, out of pity, was permitted to call her aunt even though there was no relation. "Thanks, thanks a lot," he muttered.

"What I want to know," said Grizzelda, staring down at them imperiously, "is how you got the money to buy it – if that's what you did?" implying that he might have stolen it. She thrust out her free hand, palm up, waiting for it to be filled.

"What?" asked Colin. He didn't really like being called a thief.

She cleared her throat, indicating her impatience. He knew that nothing from the outside was permitted in. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a chocolate bar, silently berating himself for not eating it before coming home, even though it wasn't meant for him.

"A Big Jurt!" lamented Spike, knowing his aunt would throw it into the river, making sure they watched while she did so.

"Follow me," she said coldly, "both of you!"

"But, I was guarding the bridge," said Spike, his tone desperate.

"It can wait," she answered over her shoulder, her hand flicking up and motioning for them to follow.

On the back of her dress was a silver brocade design of an hourglass, except this hourglass, like a real one, was working. They fixedly watched as silver grains of sand flowed steadily into a growing pile at the hem of her dress. They gulped and shot one another worried looks as she crossed over the bridge and disappeared, not stopping to throw the contraband in the river. They were in deep trouble.

"I am _waiting!"_ she said from the other side of the bridge.

The gate to their invisible camp was the bridge. On warm, sunny days, outsiders would pass over the bridge with their picnic baskets, set up their blankets and settle down for an enjoyable afternoon. Sometimes they would set their blankets down in the same place as their encampment, but the outsiders never noticed. Even though it was the same place, there were two separate dimensions. Colin had always accepted it, but now he was wondering why they had to remain invisible, why they had to hide, and why they had to scare people away sometimes.

The scaring of children and families was forbidden, reserving the haunting for rebellious adolescents, and suspect individuals, who, in Grizzelda's words, seemed "shifty." But now Colin was questioning even this. If nobody on the outside could see their camp at Pansy Patch, why bother scaring anyone at all? Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe families can't see because they're so preoccupied with each other that they don't bother to look. With this idea came the revelation that Rhea – if she could see a Nix – might be able to see their camp. He had never supposed that there were others who could see them, but in this context, the scaring away made sense.

As they passed over the bridge, their invisible camp appeared. Colin's home consisted of wooden poles and buffalo skins wrapped around them to form a teepee. He examined the three conical teepees and felt a rush of dread flooding into him. It was home, but lately it was feeling more like a prison. He, Spike and Melissa were becoming more restless, more interested in the world they referred to as "the outside."

The boys were being taken directly to Grandfather Thunder's tent. Melissa, Spike's little sister, coming back from the river with a pail of water, gazed at them with a questioning look. Her hair was jet black. Each eye was of a different colour. Her right eye was a striking light blue, while her left eye was a deep, compassionate brown. Spike shrugged innocently, as if to say he had no idea why he was following Aunt Grizzelda. As they got closer to Grandfather's teepee, an odd sensation percolated through the air. It was something they had never felt before, yet, they all knew instinctively that the phenomenon told of an End. The paintings on the teepee's skin started to move. Strange red and black painted people, some with horns, danced around and through the colorful geometric designs on the tent. When Aunt Grizzelda brushed against the buffalo hide, the figures stopped dancing and crowded around the dark oval that marked the entrance to the teepee and gazed out at them in mute interest.

"Grandfather Thunder has gone fishing. Please try some other time. If you wish to leave a message, please feel free to paint one," said a big black figure with horns.

Grizzelda gave a small, irritated growl and the black, horned figure leaped back defensively. "Grandfather Thunder, I need to talk to you, now!" The odor and fumes from burning sweet grass emerged gently from the dark interior of the tent.

"Come in, come in," came an old soporific voice from inside. As Grizzelda went to enter, she was stopped as the voice continued, "Not you Star Blanket, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Colin alone. Spike Pine, you may return to your duty."

With the look of suppressed victory, Spike slipped away, trying not to make eye contact with Grizzelda or with Colin. "Come in, and please, bring the comic," then after a moment of hesitation, "and the chocolate bar."

Apprehensively, Colin took the comic and bar back from Grizzelda, trying not to be too glad. Sometimes Colin wondered if Grandfather Thunder could read minds. G.T. wasn't someone he feared, so he wondered why a cold knot of anxiety was gripping his stomach as he bowed to enter into the sweet-smelling, dark, mysterious interior of the tent.

At first, he couldn't see anything except the glowing end of the sweet grass placed in a seashell in the middle of the tent. As his eyes adapted to the darkness, the outline of the hoary-headed old man began to separate itself from the darkness. Like some mystic adumbration, Grandfather Thunder sat, cross-legged, head bowed, so that his features were obscured in deep shadow. He looked old, very old, and so very tired. Slowly he lifted his head revealing a beak-like nose and sharp, piercing eyes, eyes that shone and danced eerily in the dark. Colin noticed, with some trepidation, that Grandfather Thunder was sitting at the western end of the tent: the place of farewells, the place of death. The warm smile didn't negate the seriousness of the moment. The meaning was unmistakable; an end was coming, change. Lifting his staff, Grandfather Thunder motioned for Colin to sit across from him in the East. Colin swallowed hard with some difficulty; the end of the staff was in the form of a serpent's head, its eyes taking on the hue and glitter of the stars at night. Colin had never seen that before.

Grandfather Thunder held out his free hand and motioned for the comic and chocolate bar. A big grin spread over his face. "A Big Jurt!" he said reverently as he turned the bar over in his hands and held it up to his nose to drink in the scent. "You don't think she suspects?" he asked.

Colin shook his head, sure the covert collusion of smuggling in chocolate bars was still a secret. He watched as the old man opened the end of the bar and took a nibble. There was definitely something wrong because G.T.'s hands were shaking.

Colin watched, almost forgetting to breathe several times, as his Grandfather Thunder slowly placed the bar down and began to thumb through the comic book. Eventually he folded the comic back into its original position and patted its cover. After a long pensive moment, Grandfather Thunder reached forward and gave the burning sweet grass coil in the seashell extra life by fanning it with an eagle feather.

"So, what do you think of Sergeant Peary?" he asked breaking the debilitating silence.

Colin felt the sharp intelligence behind the heavily hooded eyes, waiting, examining him. Grandfather Thunder already knew about the voice in Colin's head. He learned long ago that trying to hide anything during an interview was a serious mistake.

"He talks to me -- tells me how -- how, I should behave -- outside," he said haltingly.

Grandfather Thunder arched his eyebrows at the comic's cover, the blazing gun, and the fair woman cowering behind the soldier. "I hope you're not following _all_ his advice."

Colin smiled, and began to relax; G.T. had just made a joke. It wasn't necessarily a fear that motivated Colin, but the dread of disapproval. For some reason the possibility of causing disappointment in the old man's eyes was more dreadful than all of his Aunt's threats.

"No."

"When did he start talking to you?" he asked calmly. Although Grandfather Thunder spoke almost casually, there was a serious earnestness in his voice, as though each word had been weighed judiciously.

Colin stared down at his hands, not wanting to meet the old man's eyes. "A couple of months ago, in the spring."

"The spring," he said surprisingly, as though it was full of portentous meaning.

He appraised the comic book again. "I would say this cost you a good twenty pop bottles. Beer cans are best to avoid, beer bottles too. They can carry bad spirits."

Colin let the tension flow out of him. G. T. wasn't going to say any more about the voice. He satisfied himself with the image of Rhea that leapt into the forefront of his mind and her ability to see the Nix that attacked them.

"There is a girl -- while I was playing soccer today," said Colin.

"Soccer? What is Soccer?" asked Grandfather Thunder curiously.

"It's a game where you kick a ball and score goals."

"Ah, the ball, is black and white," he said knowingly. "You are good at this game?"

"Well, not really, but I get to meet others. We were attacked by a Shadow Nix."

"Ah, I see," said Grandfather Thunder sagely, "so, you avoided the Nix?"

"Yes," said Colin feeling his pulse begin to race as he began to recall the incident, "but our Coach, Mr. Bone didn't. The Nix did something different. It usually just attaches to a person's shadow, but this one..." Colin felt the darkness around them thicken, as though it was reaching out with cold, clammy fingers and joining the shadows already around them.

"Continue," encouraged Grandfather Thunder giving him strength.

"It slipped inside the Coach, like it was slipping beneath his skin, and then, it was gone."

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Grandfather Thunder finally spoke again: "You are sure of this?"

"Yes."

A great sigh of worried breath filled the interior of the teepee. "It would have to happen now, wouldn't it?"

"Excuse me?" asked Colin not understanding.

"Have you ever heard of the saying that difficult things tend to happen during the worst of times?"

"No."

Grandfather Thunder laughed, followed by a great coughing spasm.

"That may be your salvation, Colin, your innocence."

"She can _see,_ Grandfather, really _see_! When we were attacked by the Nix, Rhea _saw_ it!

Colin heard a sound just outside the tent; Aunt Grizzelda involuntarily inhaled a sharp breath.

"Do you know how you came to be with me?" asked Grandfather Thunder.

Colin felt puzzled by the change in flow. He knew how. It was well known history, so he wondered why the question was being asked. "Yes," he said haltingly.

"Please, humor me again. It is important." The word, important, seemed to hang in the air before vanishing in the darkness that was surrounding them.

"My aunt brought me here as a baby. She said I was her sister's. She was able to find you because she could _see_ you when nobody else could."

"Yes, _seeing,_ or finding someone who is able to _see_ , marks a beginning," he whispered, and then finished so faintly that Colin couldn't hear him say, "and an end."

"Grandfather Thunder?" asked Colin who was afraid that the old man had fallen asleep.

"Yes," came the heavy reply.

"Why does my aunt hate me?"

"I wouldn't exactly say she hates you," chuckled Grandfather Thunder. "Let's just say she has a particular way of showing her love for you, and Spike and Melissa. Remember, she has acted as your mother all these years, and that is a serious and sometimes heavy thing."

"What happened to her -- my mom?" asked Colin, hoping this time he might receive an answer.

"That is not my story to tell, but your aunt's." Then suddenly, Grandfather Thunder raised his voice and spoke loudly, something he didn't do often. "Grizzelda Star Blanket, I think it's time we had a Council. There are some things we need to discuss, don't you agree?"

There was an awkward surprised shuffling just outside the tent where his Aunt had been listening to their conversation. They felt her anxious energy, her need to control, nearly vibrating through the walls of the tent. As they heard her stomp away, they felt the air clear as her self-made atmospheric disturbance accompanied her.

Grandfather Thunder sighed and motioned for Colin to stand up, and at the same time, held out a hand for help. "Sometimes these old legs don't respond on command. I worry about your aunt, so much anger in her. She keeps secrets, too many."

Colin helped him to his feet and supported the man's distressingly fragile frame as he stooped and tottered out the egress of his teepee. Once outside he managed to straighten, supporting himself with his staff whose head had now changed from that of a serpent to that of an antelope. He considered the staff scrupulously, looking carefully at the pronghorns and the beautiful coloring of the animal's head, and smiled. He shrugged and winked at Colin. "Wishful thinking," he said, "I am afraid my galloping days are over," and began to shuffle along. "Oh, by the way, is there any chocolate on my mouth?"

* * *

By the time they reached the Council Circle, Grizzelda had gathered everyone together. In the center a small fire was burning, cheerfully giving up its aromatic smoke. Spike and Melissa were looking very uncomfortable having Grizzleda sitting between them. Colin and Grandfather Thunder took their places at the other end of the fire. For a moment they all stared silently into the orange-red flames of the fire, feeling the possibilities take form around them. So many directions, so many paths, all depending on what might be said, or not said. Colin felt uneasiness grow inside him; somehow his world was about to change.

"I am dying," said Grandfather Thunder, as though he had just announced that it was going to be a very nice day.

"Nonsense!" scolded Grizzelda, who was just about to launch into a diatribe about how old people think they are always dying.

"No, I am quite sure of it, Grizzelda Star Blanket. I _am_ dying, and unfortunately, I am dying _right now_." He held up his hand and it shimmered with a translucent, ghostly quality. His hand was not as substantial as it had been a moment ago.

"Oh my," said Grizzelda, then she became unnaturally silent.

Colin, Spike and Melissa were in shock, not knowing what to say.

"I have to tell you a few things before I go," he said giving the children a reassuring smile. "First, death is not the end. Second, I'm not going to allow myself to fade totally. There are too many things to put in order for me to make a quick exit. Don't look that way Star Blanket; all things must end. It's natural, it's right, remember that.

Colin tells me he has seen a Nix slip beneath the skin of a person."

"Nonsense," scolded Grizzelda, "Nixes don't behave that way. We all know that." She folded her arms to present a resisting front.

"They behave that way when they gain in strength," corrected Grandfather Thunder. "It has been a long time since I've seen that type of behavior, not since..." his voice trailing off into a thought he chose to keep secret.

"What do you think it is?" asked Spike. "What do you think is making them stronger?"

"I don't know, but I have my suspicions. That's why I'm choosing not to totally die, not just yet."

"You can do that?" asked Colin. "Can we do that? Why can't you just simply choose not to die?" The idea of life without Grandfather Thunder was just beginning to dawn on him and he didn't like it at all.

"It's not an advisable thing to do. There's a price to be paid, there always is when you go against the natural order of things."

As Grandfather Thunder continued, the light from the fire seemed to go through him. His body was losing its reflective qualities by the moment. They all stared at him, willing him to stay, but knowing what was happening to him was beyond their control.

"What am I going to do!" shouted Grizzelda springing to her feet in panic. "You're the one that keeps this place hidden. Once you're gone..."

"Once I'm gone your place of refuge will no longer be here; true, you will have to return fully to the outside world. It's what you've always desired, Grizzelda. You can now face the things you have always been too frightened to face."

"No, I can't, not now!" said Grizzelda, her face going ashen in color. Her dress was devoid of any patterns, just an unsure, black void.

"Yes, you can. You have incredible strength! It's in your blood, and you know it."

Grandfather Thunder tilted his head upwards, examining the soughing wind that moved through the pines in the park. "Change is here."

To look at Melissa you would expect a quiet, demure little girl, who talked quietly, but that was where observation failed. In her entire life she had never uttered a word. Those limpid eyes saw so much more than anyone else, and perhaps that's why she didn't speak. Often she didn't have to. Her eyes often expressed her emotions. The brown emanating warmth and compassion, while the blue giving off the cold, icy resolve often caused by anger. She was, now, staring mutely at Grandfather Thunder, both eyes open wide in fright.

Grandfather Thunder smiled kindly at her. "Don't worry, where I'm going _is_ dangerous, but it's nothing I can't handle. Dangerous because it is where the Nixes live, and if they catch me there, they will never let me die. But don't worry," he lifted his staff and a blue light pulsed from a serpent's eyes, "I will not be entirely helpless."

"Then why go?" shot in Grizzelda rather desperately. "Why go at all? You can fight it. If anyone can fight death, you can!"

"No," said Grandfather Thunder strongly, "I can't fight death, and it would be a mistake to even presume I could. Death exists for a reason, a reason I don't fully understand, but I'm going to let myself go _Inbetween_ because I can _see_ better and I can warn you before _IT_ comes."

"What is _IT_?" A panicked look crossed Grizzelda's face; little geometric silver patterns ran helter-skelter all over her dress making Colin dizzy. Gone was his aunt's inherent haughtiness, and for a moment, before she could regain control, she looked like a frightened little girl. She looked hurt, even betrayed.

Grandfather Thunder smiled beneficently, his old eyes twinkling. "I am not exactly sure. I am an old man, and I have always prided myself on protecting and training those who can _see._ You don't think I'm going to let a little thing like death get in the way of finding out, do you?"

Grandfather Thunder had become so transparent that it was beginning to affect the general timbre of his voice making it quiver like the strings of an instrument losing tension. "Before I go, I have a gift for you." From inside a bag made out of otter skin, Grandfather Thunder drew out two small leather pouches with long ties for wearing around the neck. He hobbled over to Spike and Melissa and placed them in their hands. "There, now you are protected. Within each pouch you have the essence of a spirit guardian. They will protect you." He turned to Colin. Instead of handing him the same, he gave him the Sergeant Peary comic book and gave a knowing smile.

"Don't go," whispered Grizzelda just before the image of Grandfather Thunder flickered out.

"Have you ever wondered why I gave you the appellation Star Blanket? It is because within you, you have all the possibilities of the stars. Take the children Home, and care for them to the best of your ability, but beware the Nixes."

And with this final statement, Grandfather Thunder almost died, disappearing from sight.

Chapter Three: Horwood House

For every kid in Rivertown, school started the very next day, every kid except, Colin, Spike and Melissa. To Colin's request, or to the law's demand for compulsory attendence, Grizzelda was not in the slightest way inclined to listen. There were more important matters to attend to. The first thing on her agenda was to get rid of the Sergeant Peary comics. She burned them, throwing them one at a time into the fire.

Colin watched the black and white ashen flakes rising up into the air. He had read most of the comics anyway, but the violation of his property hurt. They were his, especially the last one. The last one Grandfather Thunder had touched. Unable to witness it anymore he ran away, making his way to G.T.'s teepee. There was nothing inside. It was as though all evidence of the old man had been rubbed out, except for one item. In the center was the last Sergeant Peary comic book, the one with the blazing machine gun, cigar chewing sergeant and the blond. He snatched it up and fanned through it. Why hadn't she burned it? She had taken it from him, but here it was. The departure of the old man had left a big weeping hole in him, but the comic, or its physical presence, managed to fill it somewhat. He rolled it up, and tucked it deep into his jacket pocket. Even the prospect of leaving their home didn't seem to bother him as long as he had the comic.

Although Grandfather Thunder was gone, some of his residual power kept Pansy Patch Park invisible; but in the span of a week, that power would entirely dissipate and everything they knew would be gone. Alive, he was a link between the two dimensions; now, their Pansy Patch Park would be the same one that everyone else saw. They had to find another place to live. By the end of the sixth day, Grizzelda's exhausting search had yet to yield fruit. It was as though she was frantically looking for something that didn't exist. Although Colin, Spike and Melissa thought at least a dozen houses were nice, Grizzelda had dismissed them as being somehow _wrong._ Spike had foolishly asked her what _wrong_ meant, and received a scorching diatribe that left him awfully confused.

As far as Grizzelda was concerned, none of the houses she'd viewed had the right character. They all lacked taste. She disliked the square, weighted blocks of most, and the flimsy construction of others. She was trying to match something in each house she inspected to an indistinct dream image she had had. She knew and yet, at the same time, didn't know what she was looking for. Late in the afternoon of day seven, she finally found the perfect place. It matched the distant half memory of a home that was becoming more distinct with each passing day.

The property was encircled by a twelve-foot stone wall with a large iron entrance gate. A real estate sign by the entrance hung lopsided from its metallic arm, eerily creaking back and forth, moved by some invisible hand, as there was no perceptible breeze. The rusted chains that held it attached, and the nearly obliterated name and phone number of the real estate agent, testified that the house had been on the market for a very long time.

From the gate, it was difficult to see the house because it was also ensconced behind mature stands of trees and shrubbery. Only a series of sharp gables and some crenellated castle battlements were visible: the crown of what must be a massive mansion. A bronze plaque, stained green through the passing of years, was mounted on the stone wall by the rusted, iron gate. Spike, his nose nearly against the plaque, tried to read the peculiar, hand-engraved, gothic script.

"Sors – ee – mman - us," said Spike. "What's that supposed to mean?" He turned around hoping for an answer, but Grizzelda was staring in past the gate with obvious delight on her face, as though she could see all the way to the house.

"This is it? This is what we're looking for?" asked Spike, incredulously. "You haven't even seen it!"

Grizzelda, who had been merciless in all the other inspections, was unable to break her rapturous gaze.

"I think that's a definite yes," whispered Spike, diffidently.

Grizzelda came out of her trance and gave Spike a withering glare. "If you don't mind," she said, her lips tight and thin, "I am making a call to the real estate agent."

Colin, Spike and Melissa looked at each other. They didn't know much about the outside, but they knew about telephones. How could she be making a call without a telephone? Then they remembered: Grandfather Thunder always knew of things happening in places far away from Pansy Patch Park, and they'd never had a telephone there. All three had a sinking feeling that Grizzelda knew how to do things they hadn't even fathomed.

"Ah," she said, taking her finger from her temple and looking down the street with intense satisfaction.

A vintage black Jaguar, looking rather predatory, sped up the street and lurched to a stop beside them. It was hard to see the driver through the dark tinted windows, but when the door flew open, a well-dressed, portly man, with a shiny, bald head, climbed out of the car. Even the severe-looking sunglasses on his face couldn't hide his jovial disposition. He removed the glasses and, with a springy step, walked straight to Grizzelda, his hand extended in welcome.

"Well, well! My competitors have been telling me about you! I was wondering when I was going to have the pleasure of meeting you," he said, pumping Grizzelda's hesitant hand. "Marcus Tiberius Dundas at your service!"

Colin expected Grizzelda to wipe her hand on the black scarf around her neck, but instead she leaned down (she was at least two heads taller than the rotund real-estate agent) and placed her cheek against Marcus' cheeks, once on the right and once on the left, kissing the air both times.

"Oh ho!" exclaimed Marcus, "The French way! Very good, very good!" He dug through his coat pockets and eventually found the key he was looking for. It was a long black thing on a big ring that looked more like a weapon than a key. "I travel to Europe now and then." He inserted the key into the lock in the gate and with all his might tried to turn it. "Now, this little beauty is the gem of the town." He tried to turn it again. "But I have to warn you, the reason it hasn't sold was because of its price and a couple other little matters. Looks like I should have brought some oil," he said, slightly embarrassed, staring at the rusted lock.

"Here," said Grizzelda, slipping her hand under his and taking over from Marcus, "let me try."

Colin stared at his aunt in wide-eyed disbelief. Was there a little purring inflection in her voice? He shook his head.

"By all means," chortled Marcus, "nothing against women's lib. I've always said it doesn't matter who does it, just as long as the job gets done!" His slightly protuberant eyes bulged even more as Grizzelda smoothly and adeptly turned the key and opened the lock. "I . . . I'll make sure to have this lock looked at."

Colin had noticed something peculiar when his aunt had turned the key. As she was doing so, a slight glow had pulsated from Grizzelda's hand and into the lock. In a fleeting moment he understood what had happened. Somehow she had reformed the fused metal inside the lock, returning it to its original, working state. How she had done it, or how he knew she had done it, he hadn't a clue, but what amazed him even further, was a feeling from deep within him, that given time, he would be able to do the same thing.

Marcus took over and shoved hard against the gate until the rust on the hinges gave and one side began to swing inwards with a screeching chorus of tormented voices.

"After you," said the real estate agent cheerily, bowing before Grizzelda who was visibly beaming.

Colin noticed that even though the weather was rather cool, beads of sweat formed on Marcus' pink flesh. There was something about Marcus that bothered him: he was hiding something.

Horwood House was an awe-inspiring, yet dour-looking, piece of architecture. With its crenellated towers and steep frowning gables, the mansion looked like a grotesque cross between a castle and a Victorian nightmare. After the eye had been assaulted by the pure massiveness of the building, it was drawn to the partially attached ruined tower to the West, and there it stayed in wonder. Never finished, it was left as a testimony to something mysterious and Colin couldn't keep his eyes from it.

As they walked up the long cobbled driveway, an unfinished statue rose up before them, forbidding and sinister looking. The block of unfinished black marble was large, and it gave them the impression that it was squatting, impatiently waiting for them to arrive.

"The owner was rather – eccentric. He commissioned this statue, but he died soon after. It was never finished, along with the Western tower," explained Marcus. Grizzelda speculated with Marcus as to the possibility that something might lie beneath the block. For a moment, they talked of how the famous artist Michael Angelo would carve away all the rubble to reveal what was already within. Then Marcus ushered them away from the amorphous, black stone.

"Just what this place is crying out for: a statue of a crazy, old, rich guy," whispered Spike. "How much you wanna bet the face that gets carved in that rock is going to look a lot like Grizzelda's?"

Grizzelda gave a terse, impatient nod. "The house?"

Marcus rubbed his hands. "Yes, the house, the house. Please follow me."

He led them up a series of wide, stone steps and past the big wooden columns that guarded the entrance. He pointed to a particular spot on the outside floor, but was too late. Spike had stepped on the rotten board, putting his foot through it.

"Sorry! A bit of a fixer-upper, it is, but being the industrious woman I think you are," said Marcus in an attempt to flatter Grizzelda, "you should have it patched up in no time."

As he fumbled to find the house key on the big iron loop, Colin examined the gigantic double door in front of them. It was massive, and very unfriendly-looking with iron studs and large angular hinges. Two green brass plates, bottom and top, bound the dark, pitted planks together. In the center of the right-hand door was a large, circular knocker shaped in the form of entwined serpents. He almost felt compelled to reach out to rap the knocker against the wood, but Marcus found the right key and opened the lock.

"So, as I was saying, a bit of a fixer-upper." Marcus waved his thick figures dismissively at the ceiling. On the floor there were a number of buckets -- most were half filled with stagnant water. "The roof has a few holes in it, but nothing..."

"...a resourceful woman like you can't fix," completed

Spike, rolling his eyes.

Glancing first at Grizzelda, then at Spike, Marcus gave a hesitant grin. "It _has_ been vacant for many years."

"I don't know about you, but this place gives me the creeps," Spike muttered under his breath. He leaned in close to Colin and whispered, "So what does Sergeant Peary think of the place?"

The boys weren't worried about being overheard. Marcus was over by the stairway, rubbing off the dust from the banister with his sleeve to show Grizzelda the wood grain. And Melissa was shyly, but curiously, lifting the sheet off what appeared to be a piano.

"I don't know. Ever since Grandfather Thunder left, he's been silent."

"That's unlike him. I sure hope he pipes up real soon 'cuz Grizzelda's gone totally whacko and I kinda doubt G.T. meant for us to end up here. What do you think of this place? You can't think she's really considering buying it? I mean, a place like this must cost a bundle! It's creepy, but it could rub off on you. You know what I mean, lots of places to hide from Grizzelda. Where would she get the money?" Spike cast a furtive glance at his Aunt who was now being led up the stairs to the second level.

Colin knew Spike was just letting off a bit of steam and wasn't all that concerned about hearing what he had to say.

The boys joined Melissa who had now peeled back a corner of the dusty linen, revealing the black and white keys of a baby grand. She swished the dust off the bench, sat down, and softly, ever so softly, began to play _Au claire de la lune,_ the piano in perfect tune _._ Colin and Spike stared at her stupefied.

As she finished playing the piece, Spike asked, "How did you learn to do that?"

"Yes. How did you learn to do that?" demanded Grizzelda, sweeping down the steps in a long aggressive stride, her voice harsh like the ragged edge of hastily cut tin. Quickly, she grabbed the corner of the linen and pulled it back down over the keys of the piano.

Melissa shrugged apologetically, using physical motions in place of words. There were times when Spike wondered if his sister would ever speak, but, even if she never did, he recognized there was deep, startling intelligence there, moving beyond the limpid depths of her eyes.

Grizzelda snorted disdainfully and turned away to face Marcus. "I think I've seen enough. We'll take it."

The real estate agent choked on the rush of grateful words spewing out of his mouth. Once he had settled down, suppressing his enthusiasm, not trying to seem too eager, he regained the use of his voice. "There is – ah - something else you should know. The house is – how might I say this - haunted."

"Haunted!" Spike couldn't control himself as he shouted with glee. "Excellent!"

Grizzelda merely arched a condescending eyebrow, "An earthbound spirit? Is that all?"

"Well," continued Marcus, taken aback by the response, "I don't know if anybody has ever seen it. They just sort of hear it and sometimes - smell it." The portly man was unaware that he was rubbing his hands together in a worried, contrite fashion.

"Smell it?" asked Grizzelda.

"Yes, the smell of tobacco smoke," he said, then returned to the matter of the sale. "So, to go back over the – er - some of the detractors of the house – so that you are perfectly aware of what you are getting into..."

Grizzelda coiled her arm around Marcus' sleeve and squeezed his arm, giving him a flattering, smile.

"Don't you worry about any of those things; I just need to know if you can accept gold."

Marcus went white. "Gold? You mean cash? No mortgage? You're buying it outright? You haven't even heard the price?" When the look didn't change on Grizzelda's face, he continued, "No, no, you don't pay me, my good woman; you pay the bank. This place fell into receivership, for unpaid taxes, years ago when old man Horwood died. His only son preceded him; he was killed during the Second World War. No, it's the bank you need to go to. They bought the place off the town, and to this day they continue to pay the taxes."

"It doesn't matter what it costs," said Grizzelda, turning about to get a full panoramic view of the dark interior. "It's perfect! Can we move in tonight?" She gave him a disarming smile.

Swallowing hard, as though he was trying to confirm to himself that this wasn't a dream, he fumbled with the brief case he had been carrying, opened it and pulled out a bundle of papers and a pen.

"Of course you can move in tonight, if you really want to, but we'll have to sign a few papers. You know, for liability purposes."

***

Grizzelda told them they wouldn't be going back to the park to retrieve their belongings. "That will be taken care of."

How? She wouldn't explain. So, after having a cold meal of stale bread and old cheese on the linen of the table in the dark, monstrous kitchen, they climbed the stairs to their bedrooms. They were assigned a room at the far end of the hallway, while Grizzelda claimed the master bedroom at the head of the stairs. Spike saw the fear in his sister's eyes, not because of the possibility of encountering a ghost, but because, for the first time in their lives, they were going to sleep someplace different than their tents. Grizzelda, oblivious to Melissa's feelings, seemed delighted with the prospect of spending the night in the house. They watched as she retreated down the hallway, the light from her candle fading, then blinking out, as she entered her room and shut the door. They turned and stared at the daunting door that led into their own room.

Colin handed Spike their candle so he could use both hands on the large door handle. He turned and pushed, and the heavy wooden door swung effortlessly inwards. They had been expecting the hinges to be rusted, and to screech, but the door opened silently, the hinges having been freshly oiled.

"Who do you think did that?" asked Spike, dabbing at an oil drip on one of the hinges.

"Don't know," said Colin not necessarily wanting to know. "Could you shine some of that light over here?" asked Colin, trying to sound brave for Melissa's sake.

Their eyes widened with delight in the dim candlelight as the interior of the room was revealed to them. All of their stuff from Pansy Patch had somehow been moved into the room. He surveyed their scattered possessions. They didn't have very much, but one of Colin's favorite things was the plush buffalo rug rolled out on the wooden floor. Melissa went directly to a willow hoop and picked it up and examined it. The Dream Catcher had four feathers, a web pattern of string and three large red beads caught in the web. She clasped it to her heart. Spike ignored his collection of rocks and shells and made a direct line to the big canopy bed that occupied the end of the room. The place was strangely clean, as though they had been expected. Spike began to bounce up and down on the bed.

"This is great! Look a roof. If it rains inside we won't get wet," joked Spike. "You mind if me and Melissa take this?"

"Sure, go ahead," said Colin. He had no desire to sleep in the same bed with Spike who snored. He took the secreted copy of the Sergeant Peary comic and placed it down on his rug. He wondered how this was going to be his guardian spirit, as Grandfather Thunder had implied.

Melissa quietly stood up on a rickety old chair and hung the dream catcher in front of the window on an old nail in the wall. Standing there she looked small and fragile. Tears rolling down her cheeks from her eyes.

"Why are you hanging up that old thing?" asked Spike, bending his legs to absorb his last bounce.Colin silently gestured to Spike, having just noticed Melissa's tearful state. Spike jumped off the bed, went to her, and placed an understanding hand on her shoulder. "Listen, it's going to be all right. We'll take care of you, and as Grandfather Thunder said, he's not really gone," he said reassuringly.

She attempted a brave smile and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

"You're going to like it here. You liked the piano, didn't you?"

She nodded her head emphatically.

"Well then, it's settled." He craned his neck to take the perspective of his sister as she was looking out the window. "What are you looking at?"

She nodded at the statue block of black marble, which the window gave them a perfect view of. There was somebody out there in the night.

Colin joined Spike and Melissa at the window.

The shadow of a person stood rooted in front of the statue block. In the fading twilight, they recognized Grizzelda's gaunt form, her black hair fluttering about her pale face in the wind. She stared worshipfully at the block, as though she could see through the marble to the figure hidden beneath uncut stone.

"Freaky," murmured Spike. "Did you see how badly she wanted this place? I don't think it would've mattered if the whole roof had been caved in. She decided to buy it while we were still waiting out by the street for Marcus to show up!"

"Buy it with what?" asked Colin, feeling more and more uncomfortable. There were too many unknowns creeping in around them, and he wanted some answers.

"Gold!" said Spike relishing the word, his imagination getting the best of him, "but where did she get the gold? She'd need a lot of it to buy a place this size. There must be a hundred rooms."

"Let's go to bed," said Colin feeling rather exhausted and wondering suddenly if he was ever going to see his new friend, Rhea, again.

Spike looked at his sister and sighed. "Colin's right. Let's have a good sleep. Tomorrow we can explore this place."

Melissa nodded toward the lonely form of Grizzelda in front of the block of stone.

"She's a big girl. Don't worry about her," said Spike, trying to convince her, but it came out sounding a bit uncaring.

***

A little after midnight, when Spike was snoring and snorting, his mouth showing its cavernous interior to the ceiling, Colin woke up to the distant smell of burning...peat...or was it cow dung? His comic book was also glowing. He tentatively moved his hand close to it, and the glowing luminescence burgeoned, illuminating the entire room. Withdrawing his hand, the light lessened to a dull, pulsating throb. The book, then, levitated and floated over to the doorway. Transfixed, Colin moved to the door, opened it, and followed the hovering comic book out of the room.

Traversing the hallway, he was careful to remain silent as he approached Grizzelda's room, where he thought she should by now be sleeping. Of course, nothing with his aunt was ever sure. She could be anywhere. With some relief, he noticed that there was a pool of light escaping from beneath her closed door. At least she was in her room. The comic book stopped in front of her door and its light turned from pulsing amber to a pale blue. From within the room Colin heard his aunt's excited voice in conversation, speaking so fast that he couldn't make out any details. There was no telephone hooked up in the house, so she must have been using her weird finger-to-the-temple phone. As he listened, the hairs on the back of his arms stood up when he realized she was being answered by a second voice, a voice that seemed far away.

Colin was wondering about the sanity of his aunt when the comic began to float away. He followed it down the stairs and, as he did so, he stepped on a squeaky board. In the daytime he wouldn't have even noticed the sound, but at night it seemed to echo, magnified by the immensity of the house. He froze. The muffled tones of the conversation in Grizzelda's room stopped abruptly, replaced by the bated silence of someone listening. If the door opened, he would be toast. The muffled voice of his aunt resumed, accented with sniffles. Was his aunt actually crying? That would be a first. He lifted his weight slowly from the board and moved swiftly for the bottom of the stairs where the comic book, glowing amber again, was waiting.

He soon found out that there was just as much below the first floor of the mansion (he could no longer call it a house) as there was above it. In the subterranean warren, rough limestone walls danced with the shadows thrown by the light from his comic. Shadows seemed to hover just outside the glow, prancing maliciously in front of him, and then closing in behind him when he passed.

The acrid stench of smoke was getting stronger, more than that of burning peat, more like some foul weed. Colin jolted to a stop. He heard a voice, but now it was singing - if you could call it that. It sounded more like an animal with its leg caught in a trap. It rasped, off-key, grating harshly on the ears, jangling the nervous system.

"...a long, long way to Tip—per--arrry, but my heart's right therrrrre."

Colin winced from the dissonance in the singer's voice. No, you definitely couldn't call it singing, but it seemed friendly enough.

"I'll be home for Chrisss-masss..."

The comic's glow had dissipated along with its ability to float and now it lay on the floor where he scooped it up. He didn't need the light from the comic anymore because the chamber in front of him was glowing. Drawn forward by something between curiosity and need, he stepped into the wine cellar. Row upon row of dusty wine bottles crowded the large room, nestled comfortably in a honeycomb of racks, hiding the roughly hewn walls. A light was coming from around the corner. His foot caught on an empty bottle sending it noisily skittering across the floor. The singing stopped, and the light went out. The wine cellar went black. A moment later, the space flared with light. Colin gaped at whom he saw.

Sergeant Peary took the stub of his smoldering cigar out from between his teeth and judiciously regarded one of the wine bottles. His square chin dimpled with contemplation as he tapped the bottle with his index finger. Colin couldn't believe that Sergeant Peary was standing in front of him . . . almost. Almost, because Colin could see through the Sergeant to the wine bottles behind him. Colin wrinkled his nose at the source of the noxious, burning smell.

Sergeant Peary casually glanced at Colin, as though he was consulting a good friend.

"You know, if I remember correctly, 1944 was a good year for wine. However, there was one catch to that year..." said the Sergeant, slipping the bottle back into the rack. "That was the year Jerry shot me." His cigar- hand wavered over his heart indicating the dark, blood- stained bullet wound. "You have to admit, it was an excellent shot. Didn't feel an ounce of pain," he said in admiration.

"SSSSergeant PPPPeary?" stuttered Colin.

"In the flesh!" he grinned and then looked at his semi-transparent hand. "Well, not really flesh, is it? But you have to accept life or the type of life you're offered, eh? You didn't waste much time getting around to coming down here, did you? That's good, shows initiative. I've always admired initiative."

"I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here? I thought you were a comic book character -- and a voice in my head."

"Nothing personal, but it gets a bit crowded in there." His brow furrowed. "A comic book character?" he asked, noticing the comic in Colin's hands, then reached over and snatched it away. He thumbed through it rapidly. Every now and then the ashes from his perpetually burning cigar fell through the book and disappeared into the floor. Emotions flickered across the ghost's face -- mild interest, irritation, joy, humor -- as he examined the comic. When he was finished, he closed the book and handed it back to Colin.

"Not a bad read," he said, and gestured clearly at the blond woman on the cover, "except most of it never happened, especially that. There was that time in France, or was it England? Being dead has made my memory rather poor . . . you know, no solid gray matter to hold onto things. What I do remember is that war is a dirty, nasty affair, and the only romance that happened was between me and my rations!" With this he tilted his head back and gave a great hacking laugh.

Colin looked up at the ceiling and wondered if the noise was going to alert Grizzelda. He didn't cherish the idea of her discovering Sergeant Peary. The oddity of the moment made Colin feel as though he was dreaming, but this was real.

"Could I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead, shoot!" said Sergeant Peary, bursting into another paroxysm of laughter. Only when he was finished and wiping the tears from his eyes, was Colin able to continue.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the Netherworld or something?"

Sergeant Peary looked pensive for a moment and tapped more ashes from his cigar. "Yes, 'nether,'-- Middle English for 'Down Below'. Well..." his arms swept the room, displaying the area about him. "This _is_ 'down below'. But, I see, you're serious," he said suppressing another laughing fit. "Well, I was happy whispering my sage advice to you via your imagination, but Jim paid me a visit."

"Grandfather Thunder?"

"Old fellow with a wicked-looking walking stick that keeps changing heads? Yeah, that's him. Smart old-timer. He told me I should keep my eye on you, said I should be your guardian spirit...whatever that is."

Chapter Four: The Bank and The School

The news spread, Horwood House had finally sold, throughout Rivertown -- gossip flames dancing on the tongues of the town's people. It was like a spark falling into a tuft of dry grass: it ignited into full flame and caught on with amazing speed. By the time Grizzelda was on her way to the bank the next morning, the entire town had been alerted.

From her outward appearance--all grace, refinement, and cucumber cool--she gave the impression she was unaware that people were staring at her as she walked by.

A man bent down over a trash can, pretending to search for something he'd lost. He was the first of several lookouts posted along the street watching for 'the tall woman in dark clothing.' He vaguely wondered why the Bank Manager, Mr. Blandish found it necessary to be alerted of the woman's approach, but he knew from experience it was better not to ask "stupid questions." So, the man waited, looking as nonchalant as possible and waited.

And, sure enough, 'the tall woman in dark clothing,' rather severe and stern, _was_ easy to spot. She strode toward him, a long, silk scarf wrapped around her neck, flaring out behind. He straightened up and sneezed into a tissue--the approved signal. Before anyone could say _Gesundheit_ , the predetermined alert had traveled all the way down to the bank.

'Strange,' thought Grizzelda, raising a distrusting eyebrow, 'it appears that half a dozen _good_ citizens have come down with a cold and they're all sneezing in synchronization.'

Outside the Bank of Rivertown, a teller sneezed convincingly into a tissue, blotted her perfectly dry nose with it, then slipped back inside the bank where Mr. Blandish nodded to her and signaled for her to take her predetermined place.

Grizzleda was reminded why she disliked _outside_ so much. It was full of covert looks, full of hypocrisy, full of hasty judgments. Anyone who was different could be, and often was, a target. These were her memories before she found solace with Grandfather Thunder in Pansy Patch. Even though she tried not to let it show, the dissolution of their home in the park and the near death of Grandfather Thunder had profoundly affected her. She didn't want Colin, Spike or Melissa to know how unsure she was of herself. She took a deep, calming breath. These people would never be given the slightest indication of how she felt, or what had taken place all those years ago. All they would see -- all she would permit them to see -- was a cold, imperious woman come to claim what was rightfully hers. She suddenly understood why her own Grandfather, Zuhayer Horwood had despised most of the people in this town... but then, he had despised almost everyone, no matter where they lived or who they were, including his own progeny.

She had been so distraught, so traumatized, when Grandfather Thunder found her, clinging desperately to the baby, that he had veiled most of her memories. She had needed time to come to grips with the trauma, and now, it was that time. With him gone, snippets, remembrances, began to flicker through her consciousness: the old memory of Horwood House, her family's estate, her sister, and her overwhelming sense of guilt. This was what made her unsure. Either she face the trauma or ignore it, pretend it wasn't real. She decided on the latter.

Then last night, in her room at Horwood House, the one with the window that gave a view of the old, stately sugar maple, she'd had a waking dream:

She took one of the books from the dusty oak shelf and opened the cover to reveal a list of names in the scrawling script of a child. At the top of the list was the name _Millicent Horwood_. Underneath it were a number of variations: _Millicent Inglis, Millicent Jones_ , and _Millicent Star Blanket_. She flipped the book around to look at the title and ran her fingers over it knowing that this was indeed her book. Then _he_ was there--or the image was there--a tall gaunt man with a sallow complexion and deep haunting depressions where his eyes should have been. He floated outside the window, trying to tell her something. A host of painful childhood memories came rushing back to her, none of which she wanted to revisit. (It was this pleading, this sobbing, that Colin had heard the night before when he'd sneaked passed her door.) She had followed this image outside, stood beside the statue, and before she could sense the danger, it had touched her. Too late, she realized it was a Shadow Nix. This spirit had slipped inside. Still, she felt fine, however, she was getting thoughts, mean, ugly thoughts. She could manage them, so she thought.

Now, as Grizzelda walked toward the bank, the pockets of her chic, tightly-belted trench coat weighted with gold coins, she fought the feeling that this was _her_ town, _her_ rightful place. Even though Grandfather Thunder had treated her with respect, she could not shake herself of a brooding mournfulness of her other grandfather.

A voice inside her head gave a menacing chuckle. _"The book is evidence, condemning Grandfather Thunder. He kidnapped you and your sister's baby!"_

Feeling slightly dizzy, she stumbled a few steps. This was not true. The heartless voice continued to spew out its hatred. She fought it, remembering Grandfather Thunder's gentleness, his humour, his kindly face. Shaking her head to clear the odd sensation in her ears, the dizziness faded away and she regained her composure.

Grizzelda reached the entrance to the bank and pulled open the heavy, glass door. Despite instructions to conduct business as usual, everyone in the bank gawked at her. The imperious voice inside her demanded that she meet and hold their gazes until they looked away. _"They need to be reminded who is the master and who is the servant."_ Giving them a carnivorous smile, that wasn't entirely hers, she entered the bank.

Mr. Blandish stood waiting for her beside a large, potted rubber plant outside his office door. His white, thin hands, folded in front of him like those of a funeral director, sharply contrasted against the black suit he was wearing. His slicked-back, dark hair, held in place by glossy gel, his pencil thin mustache and goatee, and his glimmering, black eyes, all leant a sinister air to his demeanor. One of the hands floated away from his suit towards her. She reached out and grasped it aggressively, leaning in and kissing him on both cheeks. She knew, just like she'd known with the real estate agent, how to disarm a man, how to get his complete attention for however long she needed it.

Mr. Blandish, his eyes opening wide in awe, touched the sides of his face where a set of "Raspberry-Glow" lip prints bloomed. With two quick swipes of her thumb, Grizzelda removed the lipstick from the stunned man's cheeks. He wiped his hands down the front of his suit, as if dusting himself off, and cleared his throat. With a formal bow, he introduced himself, and she reciprocated. He then ushered her into his office and sat down behind his desk. Like a pair of agitated swallows, his hands fluttered nervously from a small stack of papers to his pen, to momentarily roost in a folded clasp. His mustache twitched. "Yes, well, thank you for coming by so soon. I have your papers ready for signing. May I inquire as to how you would like to pay for Horwood House? It is very..." He was going to say "expensive," but was halted by the deft, confident manner of the woman he now faced. Marcus was right to call her a 'Diana,' she had the feel of a huntress about her.

Grizzelda proceeded to disgorge her pockets of the gold coins onto his desk. As the last coin clinked into an awkward pile, Blandish, was visibly vibrating.

"The down payment," said Grizzelda arching her brow.

"The down payment?" repeated Blandish. "Oh! Yes. Yes, this should be more than enough." After a long pause, "Should we set up the mortgage and rate of interest?"

"That will hardly be necessary," said Grizzelda, her inner voice taking command of the situation, as though she was reminding the bank manager of his lowly, parasitical status. "Could the bank send an armored vehicle over to the house, this evening, for the rest?"

"Yes -- yes, of course," he said, the whites of his eyes taking on a golden luster.

The legend spoke of a fortune hidden somewhere in Horwood House. It was one of the main reasons he'd been able to talk the bank trustees into purchasing it; however, a thorough search of the house had revealed nothing. Now, here, he was staring at a pile of the gold they'd failed to find. But it wasn't this alone that made his hands shake: the gold coins were a sign, a portentous sign of THE RETURN.

He stared at the gold, then at the woman, then back at the gold, and once more at the woman, where his eyes bored into her, his capacity to breathe, forgotten.

Meanwhile, through the large glassed-in wall of Blandish's office, the entire inhabitants of the bank were staring in at Grizzelda and the gold.

"Excuse me," said Blandish, his voice cracking, as he got up to close the blinds, "you'll have to forgive them. It's not often that someone buys a house worth millions. _(And pays for it in gold coins!)_ Now, you understand, the taxes due on Horwood House are quite substantial?"

Grizzelda shrugged, looking bored. "It doesn't matter. The amount won't make a dent in my funds."

He hesitated again--thinking of the lost fortune. Grizzelda cleared her throat.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Your name is Grizzelda Star Blanket?"

"My name is, Millicent Horwood."

Blandish made a painful gulping sound deep in his throat and froze in place. His eyes widened. "You have proof of this? A birth certificate?"

"No, no proof. Not yet. I just know it. I know your petty laws require my official name. You may use Grizzelda Star Blanket, but my real name is Millicent Horwood."

She said this with such confidence that the bank manager felt certain his secret campaign to claim the Horwood fortune was truly at an end. However, as the sinking feeling dissipated, an idea, a slithering, sly idea, to get his hands on some of the money came to him. He placed his pen down on the desk and folded his hands together pensively.

"You know, if this is true, you wouldn't have to buy the house at all. You see a will was left. It specified that the house would be kept in the 'family.' We thought there were no Horwoods left, so the bank bought the house and slowly, over the years has been liquidating Mr. Horwood's possessions. The last to be sold was the House. Now, if it turns out that you are indeed the..."

"Granddaughter."

"Yes, the granddaughter of Zuhayer Horwood...the house, along with his remaining possessions, would revert to you. Of course you would have to recompense the bank, but it would not cost as much as the current market value. The market value would revert to the price at the time the bank took it over."

Grizzelda's eyes narrowed surreptitiously. She knew instinctively that Blandish wanted something, that he wasn't telling her this out of the goodness of his heart, something she suspected his heart had little knowledge of.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Nothing other than, to handle your finances...for a small percentage on income earned."

Grizzelda shrugged. _It might just as well be this banker, as any other, who handles the money--as long_ _as I get Horwood House._ "How do I prove I'm a Horwood?"

"Just a cotton swab on the inside of the mouth. Once the results come back from the lab, we'll know if your DNA shows a match to the sample Mr. Horwood kept on file. Even though DNA didn't exist in Mr. Horwood's time, he showed great foresight. He left us samples of his hair with the will.

Grizzelda nodded. "It will match."

Blandish licked his lips greedily. _By personally handling the Horwood fortune, I can quit this crummy job, and earn hundreds of thousands a year. And, of course, there'll be other benefits that will come with THE RETURN._

***

Colin, Spike and Melissa stared up at the school they were about to enter; its daunting, foreboding face stared back at them with wide unseeing eyes. Capped in its three-story crown was a gray stone with an engraved date: 1923. As they were quickly learning, buildings on _The Outside_ , especially the older ones, carried spirits with them, and High View School seemed to be swarming with them. Memories, or shadows, of previous students walked, ran, and played, in the playground, leaned out the windows, climbed up the flagpole. It wasn't easy to shut them out, but by squinting a certain way, they managed it. Colin was glad none were Nixes.

A loud 'POP' sound startled them. They turned around to find Sergeant Peary hovering a foot above their heads, chewing on his cigar. He nodded at the date on the capstone.

"Not a bad year," he said.

"Wow!" exclaimed Spike, staring agog at the specter. Peary returned his stare, puffing up his chest and brushing off the lapels of his fatigues. "It's him! It's Sergeant Peary! In the flesh! Well, not really the flesh, but you know what I mean. Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you."

Melissa gave no response, as if his presence was perfectly normal.

Peary gave Spike a dismissive wave. "None taken."

Colin gave the sergeant a perturbed look. His admiration--his idol worship--for the Sergeant was eroding somewhat. The Sergeant Peary he was getting to know wasn't anything like the one in the comic. He preferred the comic book character's serious nature, his drive to win, no matter what the cost. This version seemed to be a bit too capricious to be taken seriously.

"Aren't you supposed to be my guardian spirit?" commented Colin wryly. "You know, you appear when I need help."

Peary chewed on his cigar as he squinted up at the school, at the shadows darting about the yard, his eyes coming to rest at the entrance doors. "That _is_ what I'm doing."

Standing in front of the entrance was the impassable body of Principal Devonish, almost as wide as she was tall. Her forehead was an immovable cliff, and her eyes deep caverns that turned away all pleas of distraught children. Her gray hair was tightly knotted in a bun, which was in turn impaled by what looked like knitting needles. She assessed them closely, peering over her half-moon spectacles; her brooding eyes not only inspected the three children ruthlessly, but took in the rest of her domain as well. She liked to be the last one in the school to make sure there were no tardy or wayward students hanging about, and today she was fortunate to find three. Colin recognized that this woman and his aunt were cut from the same controlling cloth.

"Wow," whispered Spike into Colin's ear, mesmerized by the blue, white and violet floral-patterned muumuu she was wearing, "that's enough cloth to make a tent."

Colin tried not to laugh, knowing that the woman would be offended. As it was, she was already glowering down at them, her sizable bulk widening and becoming more impressive as she bent her arms and put her hands on her waist. He was glad she hadn't heard Spike's quip.

"Your names?" she demanded curtly.

Colin introduced himself, then Spike and Melissa, including their last name "Pine". Spike seemed to have lost the capacity for speech.

Sergeant Peary tossed a ghostly transparent grenade from hand to hand, his cigar smoldering furiously. Obviously, the principal could not see him.

"Do I take her out?"

"No!"

"Excuse me young man?" said Principal Devonish, continuing to glower over her spectacles.

"Nothing, sorry, we're late."

She was now consulting a clipboard that she had clutched in the hands. Pages flipped as she scanned them. She motioned them forward.

"Late? You would be late if you were registered. I don't see your names anywhere on the list. Where do you live?"

"We just moved into the old Horwood House," answered Colin obediently, hoping to impress.

Words were things of power, so Grandfather Thunder had taught him. To use the right word was like summoning lightening, and Principal Devonish looked as though she had just been struck by lightening. Her face turned sickly pale and deflated at least two sizes: the flowers on her dress folded in for the night, in full retreat.

"Horwood House?" she said, her vocal cords suddenly vibrating without conviction. She almost sounded vulnerable. "You are sure--Horwood House?"

Spike nodded gaining his voice, "The place with the creepy unfinished statue in the front."

She nodded, deflating further. "Yes, that's the one. I'm sure your parents will be by later to register you. Please, come this way," she said, a plastic smile pasted on her face.

"Beware the enemy that smiles and offers you a helping hand," whispered Peary to Colin. "Forgive my using a nautical term--you'll see why in a moment--but I don't like the cut of her jib, although there's enough of that dress to make a sail."

Colin curled his lip, for a moment, then realized Peary might have a point.

They followed Principal Devonish in through the entrance, past the trophy display, and the pictures of graduating classes that ran down a long hallway that led to her office. As they neared her source of power, she seemed to re-inflate, filling the hallway not only with her presence, but with her voice.

"I run a tight ship here. Since you missed the beginning of the school year, I will take the time to run over a few rules with you. You will have two pairs of school footwear: one for outside, one for inside. Clear? Now, you will be in your Homeroom class at 8:30 a.m., then, at 8:40, you will be escorted to the gymnasium for morning assembly. At 9:00, unless assembly runs overtime, you will begin your first class."

They were inside the central office now, and felt trapped as the doors closed behind them. In front of them, two large desks were devoid of any paper, clean and waiting for the days business. Two busy secretaries were seated and working, one at each desk; the women averted their eyes from the children and attempted to look as if they were working harder. There was a frightened boy sitting in a bone-hard chair against the wall. Colin tried to catch his eye by smiling at him, but was rebuffed with a cold, unseeing glare. He noticed that the boy was dressed in a maroon blazer and pants, black tie, and white shirt. On the left side of the blazer was a small crest emblazoned with three stars above a castle turret. The children were led into another office--Principal Devonish's inner sanctum --and were greeted by the sound of two chirping parakeets that fluttered about their cage, irritated with the intrusion.

"Oh, my sweeties," crooned Principal Devonish, pursing her lips at the two birds that refused to calm down, "don't you worry, mummy's here." She turned away, squeezing in behind her desk and sat down, the air from her seat cushion whooshing out from under her, causing a sudden draft in the room.

"Front! Please stand in _front_ of the desk. Closer, closer, that's good, very good. Now, before you are escorted to your first class, which is already in progress, I must ask you a few questions," she said, her pen hovering over an official paper she had pulled from her desk. "Your phone number is?"

Colin shrugged. "We don't have one. We just moved in."

She looked slightly perturbed.

"School of last attendance?"

Colin looked questioningly at Spike who shrugged.

"We've never gone to school."

Principal Devonish nearly dropped her pen. Quickly moving her pudgy hands up to her face, she removed her spectacles, rubbing her fingers over her pouch-lidded eyes.

"You've never gone to school?"

Colin nodded.

"Where did you live before moving here?" she inquired testily, her voice trembling incredulously.

Colin knew enough not to talk about Pansy Patch Park, so he thought mentioning where they went in the winter, would be better. "We lived down south?"

Principal Devonish gave an exasperated grimace, her voice rising in tone. "A direction is not a place!" She sighed under her breath, a long, tired complaining sigh. "Well, we'll straighten all this out when your parents come in to officially register you. Your parents are intending to come in, are they not?"

Colin shrugged. "I never knew my parents. Our aunt is sort of taking care of us. We can tell her, but I don't know if she'll come."

"You don't know if she'll come?" she repeated, her voice rising acerbically. "Well, if she does not come, you can not go to school here, and if you do not go to school, I shall be forced to report you to the authorities, because to school you must inevitably go. You are far too young to be wandering about the streets! Well, what are your ages?"

"Ages?" Immediately Colin's mind slipped back to Grandfather's teachings, remembering the earth was divided into specific ages: the age of stone, the age of wood, the age of metal, and the present age, which was the age of all knowledge. He had never thought to call himself an age.

"Yes, age, you _do_ know your ages don't you?"

Once he had heard Grandfather Thunder refer to himself as ageless, so he figured he would use this. The response was that Principal Devonish's face turned a peculiar shade of pink and then purple. Her thin lips became no more than a tightly pressed white line within the folds of flesh around her mouth.

"Don't you dare get smart with me, young man!"

Sergeant Peary reappeared in front of the bird's cage and began poking his cigar at the birds. He pursed his lips imitating Principal Devonish in a mock attempt to kiss the birds. The birds responded by squawking and flapping about uncontrollably, feathers and birdseed flying everywhere.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Devonish, going to the rescue of her birds. She was totally oblivious to the ghost. "What's the matter my little dears?" Then she crinkled up her nose with distaste, and fixed an accusing eye on Colin, Spike and Melissa. "What is that awful smell? When have you children last bathed?"

Sergeant Peary, slipping behind Devonish, stuck his finger in his mouth and blew. His head began to swell up, taking on the size and pallor of the Principal's increasingly excited head. He pursed his lips, rolled his eyes, and began to shake his finger at them in admonition. Melissa, unable to control herself, gave a giggle, which blossomed into a full hysterical, gut-wrenching laugh.

"Excuse me young lady! Do you find something funny?"

"Colin, look at Melissa!" exulted Spike. "Melissa, you're laughing! I've never heard you laugh before!"

Principal Devonish shouted, "Young man, are you telling me that your sister has _special needs?_ Young woman, do you have _special needs?_ " She pronounced the word _special_ as though it was some abhorrent disease.

Spike bristled protectively. "Don't yell at her. She hasn't done anything!"

"Young man, _if_ you were a student in _my_ school, which is looking more and more unlikely, I would have you in detention!"

"Is that close to de-bathroom?" asked Sergeant Peary, as he jumped up onto the Principal's desk and did a little dance. Papers, from filing cabinets opened by an invisible hand, including the principal's name plaque, were caught up in a sudden wind that swept through the room causing havoc. The parakeets, close to having coronaries, were now desperately flapping about, feathers flying out of the cage, as though a huge cat was trying to devour them. Sergeant Peary knocked some hot ashes from his cigar into the trash can where they caught on some paper, smoldered and ignited into flames. Principal Devonish ran back and forth between her desk and the birdcage. Bellowing at the top of her lungs, "Fire, fire!" she tossed the dregs of her tea cup into the trash can trying to quench the growing flames, then tried to placate her little _darlings_ who responded by knocking themselves senseless against the bars of the cage.

"Out! Out of my office!" screamed Devonish. "I wouldn't let you into my school, if you were the last students on earth. You evil, filthy, things!"

One of the secretaries entered the office, awkwardly clutching a fire extinguisher, and began to blast long jets of white powder at the trash can. Her aim was off; she missed and hit Principal Devonish directly in the chest, covering her immense muumuu in a blanket of white foam.

Melissa was now doubled over screaming with laughter. Prudently, Colin and Spike each grabbed one of her hands and they all took off, dashing out of the principal's office, through the central office, into the long hallway, past the pictures of the graduating classes, past the trophy display, and out of the school. They ran, and they kept on running until the school was lost to view then slackened their pace to a quick walk.

Melissa still had tears of laughter streaming down her face. Sergeant Peary, with a 'POP', materialized in front of them, walking backwards, keeping pace with them.

"What?" said Sergeant Peary addressing Colin, "You're not upset are you?" He motioned to Melissa who looked happier than she had in days, and at Spike who was staring at the Sergeant with bold-faced admiration for getting his sister to make a sound. "They don't seem to be too upset, so why are you?"

Colin shrugged. He wasn't about to tell the ghost that he had been hoping to see Rhea. Another friend would have been nice. He chided himself for having such thoughts. He was back to feeling like a freak, like someone who would never be able to make friends no matter how hard he tried. He stared down at his feet.

"Look," said Sergeant Peary in consolation, "I'm sorry, all right, but I'm not going to sit by and let that pompous old bag of wind insult you, just because you're different. Personally, I like the color of your clothes. Sure beats olive drab, or those little monkey uniforms those students were wearing." He hitched his thumbs underneath his imaginary suspenders and puffed out his chest. "After all, I'm your guardian spirit, right?" he asked, a little unsure, looking for confirmation that this was still true.

Colin felt the frustration subside within him and he gave a hapless shrug. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. Grizzelda would've eventually found out. I just thought it was a good idea to find out where Rhea went to school. I'm sorry for dragging you guys into it," he said apologetically to Spike and Melissa. "You too, Sergeant Peary."

"Don't mention it, kid, just doing my job." He almost asked about Rhea, but thought better of it.

"Sorry? For what? Look at Melissa! She laughed. I mean she actually laughed! You remember what G.T. used to say? If you don't laugh, you might as well croak."

Colin snorted and everyone burst out laughing, including the ghost. Colin tried to correct Spike's misquote of "croak" in place of "cry", but every time he tried, he broke up laughing, and Spike was no help egging everyone on with his innocent look, repeating "What? What? What?" every time Colin tried to correct him. On his last try, Colin's laughter petered out. "I remember," he said, feeling the absence of Grandfather Thunder more so now than ever. "I remember." Melissa put her arms around Colin and hugged him.

As they continued to walk Colin asked, "Sergeant Peary, you're dead, right? What's it like?"

Sergeant Peary stared at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to make sure they weren't being followed then floated in close lowering his voice to a bare whisper. "Listen, I can't say much about that. It's union rules. All I can say is -- being dead isn't like floating on clouds all day and eating ice cream." He continued to look about, seeing something they couldn't and he promptly disappeared.

"Where did he go?" asked Spike.

"Maybe the wine cellar. I'll show you later," answered Colin.

"Cool," he said, touching the leather pouch around his neck. "If our guardian spirits are as neat as yours, we should have some fun!"

Just then, Colin received his first _phone call_ from his aunt, her image appearing intrusively in his mind. She stood there like a paper cutout, sharp and angular, hands on hips. He could tell she wasn't happy. Not wanting her there, he wished her away, and surprisingly, she went.

"I think we're in trouble," Collin said.

Chapter Five: Ofelia

When they finally got back to the house, Grizzelda was waiting for them--arms crossed, toe tapping--in front of the big front door with the snake knocker. On her dress, stars buzzed about angrily forming sharp geometric patterns. Grizzelda looked like a bird of prey, her chin and nose tilted haughtily, her eyes glaring keenly.

"Where have you been? Didn't I leave specific instructions that you were not to leave the house?" she demanded in a clipped, severe manner. She knew exactly where they had gone because her own guardian spirit, a black squirrel, had followed them, watched and reported back.

Colin cleared his throat. He was prepared to take the brunt of his aunt's fury, but he hesitated too long, and Grizzelda's observations ran ahead of him.

"Melissa, do you _want_ to go to school?" asked Grizzelda. When Melissa nodded, much of Grizzelda's anger dissipated. She had expected Colin or Spike to be the ones defying her authority, not Melissa, not mousy little Melissa. In Melissa she was reminded of herself at that age.

"Yes, well," she said tightly. She had never had to punish Melissa before. "Get inside. I want a full account of how things went, now!"

Once inside Colin and Spike took over, telling the tale, leaving out Sergeant Peary, the parakeets and the fire in the principal's office. They stuck to the fact that they couldn't go to school because they weren't registered.

They sat on a big couch in the parlor. The piano had been moved into the library. Everything, strangely enough, looked amazingly clean. The dust and cobwebs along with the white linen furniture covers had been cleaned away revealing a dark, rich, wood-paneled room; they wondered how the transformation had been done so quickly. In fact they were wondering so much that their aunt's scolding had become muted in an irritating muffled sound from which they only caught the key words – school – dead – and – never. Obviously they weren't going to get the opportunity to go to school any time soon.

From somewhere in the house issued a delicious aroma that made their stomachs rumble with hunger. And, bizarre as it might seem, they could hear someone singing.

The beautiful melodic tune was coming from the kitchen, muting Grizzelda's rant even further, diminishing it to insignificance. Carrying a silver tray, piled high with slices of sweet, spice loaf, a woman glided into the room. Her skin, the color of warm sandy earth, glimmered, setting off the dazzling white smile that spread across her face.

"Hello, hello, I've heard so much about you," she exclaimed blithely, as though Grizzelda had been singing their praises, instead of ranting her complaints. "Here you are, a little snack for you," she said, setting the silver tray down on the coffee table in front of them with a flourish. "My, my," one of her brown hands dove gracefully towards Spike's hair, tentatively touching a few strands as if they were spun gold. "What beautiful hair. All of your children have beautiful hair!"

"They are not _my children_ ," said Grizzelda vehemently, "but I _am_ their guardian, and therefore, bound to take care of them. This is Colin, Spike and Melissa. Children, this is our new housekeeper."

Even though he bridled at being called a child, Colin stared at the woman in amazement.

"New housekeeper?" asked Spike. "Where did our old one go?"

Grizzelda flashed Spike a withering glare.

It began to dawn on Spike, as he bit into a piece of spice loaf, the many benefits of having a housekeeper, especially one that liked his long hair. He grinned contentedly.

"Yes, my name is Ofelia," said the woman cheerily, leaning over to shake their hands vigorously, "so pleased to meet you!"

Colin and Melissa couldn't help but smile; it was as though the woman didn't have a negative or ill feeling in her entire body. She was the exact opposite of their ever-negative aunt. They wondered how such an event--the two women being in the same room--had come to pass.

Grizzelda cleared her throat, and in her most condescending voice, said, "Isn't there something else you need to do?"

"Oh, yes, so much to do!" Ofelia said in delightful anticipation. "I hope you enjoy your snack. It's a little recipe I picked up while visiting a place – very far away. The spice flavor," she said, winking at Spike, "is cardamom. Well, I must get back to work." She gazed intensely at each of them, enveloping them in the deep, brown warmth of her eyes before slipping back into the kitchen.

Grizzelda rolled her eyes plaintively. "If there had been anybody else, I would've hired them," she said in a tired, exasperated tone. "Everywhere I go, people seem to turn white and start to shake when they hear 'Horwood House' uttered. Puh-lease!"

She stretched her long arms and took in the room with a self-satisfied air of accomplishment. Her gaze caressed a large portrait on the wall. It was the picture of a young man dressed in black armor with a red sash cutting across his torso on the diagonal. The man's sallow face stared out emptily from the dark, as haunting and expectant as the moon hanging in the background of the painting. The face was devoid of any emotion that might link the man in the portrait to humanity. His eyes were flat and blank, without a shred of humanity, just an immense darkness. "This place is absolutely wonderful. I don't see why everyone is so fearful."

"Right," mumbled Spike in-between mouthfuls.

"I have a question," posed Colin tentatively.

"Yes?"

"How could you afford this place? It must've cost a lot. I mean, I had to scrape through enough ditches just to get enough cans and bottles to buy my comics."

A delightful memory touched Grizzelda's lips moving them to smile. "Comics, oh, yes, I burned them, didn't I? I never asked you, but why did you waste so much effort on such trash? I mean, what an unbelievable character, this Sergeant Peary, total fiction!" Quickly she stood up, went to a bookshelf, pulled out a book and tossed it to him. "Here, read something good instead of that trash!"

Colin caught the book adeptly and turned it over to read the cover, _"Myths and Legends of the Carpathian Mountains_?"

"Yes, I'm sure you'll find it rather enlightening. As far as where I got the money, well, that is none of your business. By the way," she said, "all three of you are grounded to your rooms for the rest of the day." With this she swirled out of the room leaving them with the feeling that their aunt was on the edge of something, and just about ready to fall off. What that something was, they just weren't exactly sure.

"What was that all about?" asked Spike, through a mouthful of spice loaf.

"I don't know, but something has changed, don't you think?"

"I try to think as little as possible," answered Spike, who picked up another piece of bread and thrust it at his sister, who was rigid with fear. "Don't worry about Aunt G," he said confidently, "we can handle her, can't we?"

Colin nodded, but inside he wasn't sure. "There's something about her that's different," he said, thinking out loud. "I don't know what it is, but something is different."

"Can't be! She's the same bright, cheery person we've always known," responded Spike.

Colin tried to smile at this but was unable to do so. There was something in the air, a dark vapor of foreboding. It was tangible, almost as though he could reach out a touch it. It felt like a Shadow Nix, but much, much worse. He looked at Melissa who was nibbling on her bread, eyes still wide and dilated. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Melissa nodded.

***

Melissa found some chalk and busied herself by drawing a keyboard on the floor of their bedroom then she crossed her legs in front of the chalk piano and began to play. Spike, who was jumping up and down on the canopied bed, fell to his stomach and rolled to the edge to get a better view of what she was doing.

"What are you playing?" he inquired.

Melissa, not bothering to look, made a motion in the air with her fingers, imitating the playing of a piano.

"No, I mean, _what_ are you playing?"

She shrugged, her fingers continuing to flutter over the keyboard, pressing gently in some places, and more firmly in others.

"You mean, something like the tune you played on the piano yesterday, except that this one isn't so sad, but happy?" asked Colin, watching her play.

Melissa nodded.

"Happy? How can you say happy? We're locked in our room for the rest of the day--and night--and morning--and..." complained Spike, rolling onto his back and staring hopelessly at the ceiling.

"Listen, she's bound to let us out, eventually," said Colin who was sitting on the windowsill staring out past the statue block. He could just make out the vehicles going by outside the front gate. "Wait a second!" he said, turning to Melissa and hopping down from the windowsill. "I can hear it!"

"Hear what?" asked Spike.

"The music, the music Melissa is playing. Listen..."

Sure enough, running across the floor were the growing melodious strains of music that spun and jumped and took flight into the air. It emerged from silence, but soon filled the room with its essence and power. The strange music sparkled and swirled about them, taking on myriad colors. Colin and Spike watched in amazement as the glowing colors found and sheathed their legs. Then, quite independently, their legs started to twitch and move as though they were puppets. Before they knew it they were capering around the room, doing jumps and clicking their heels. Melissa, looked up when Spike crashed into the wall and fell. His legs flailed about trying to get him back up onto his feet. Finally Melissa looked up, shocked at the two prancing boys and stopped playing. With this the spell broke and they regained control of their legs. She scowled at them.

"Don't look at me," defended Spike. "We weren't making fun of you.

Spike and Colin lifted their legs, testing them, seeing if the music had truly left them.

"What happened?" asked Spike staring at Melissa. "What did you do?"

Her eyes were wide with astonishment; she put a hand in front of her startled mouth and shrugged. She had no idea what she had done.

Just then they heard Ofelia singing out a hearty welcome downstairs as she opened the front door for someone. Horwood House had a visitor? Colin and Spike dashed to the window. Of course they couldn't see who was at the door, but they could see a red car parked at the front gate. Someone was waiting in the passenger's seat of the car.

"Melissa, come over here," instructed Spike.

There was no answer.

The boys turned around to find Melissa gone. Frantically, Spike looked under the bed, while Colin checked the door, which was still locked.

"Melissa, come out, quit hiding. I'm not angry with you," called out Spike continuing to search.

A muffled cry came from within the fireplace at the end of the room. In front of the fireplace's black mouth was the white stick of chalk Melissa had been using. Spike picked it up and stepped into the fireplace, and promptly disappeared, while Colin, stunned by Spike's disappearance, froze in place. He could hear Spike and Melissa within the fireplace, almost as if within the sooty depth there was another side. He bent down and peered in. He was careful not to touch any part of the blackened brickwork, but there was something strange at the back. Something shimmered, as though the bricks there were not entirely real. He placed his foot onto the old ashes and tried his weight. Nothing happened.

"Spike? Melissa? Where are you?"

Spike's muffled voice said, "Come on through, Colin."

"Okay, I'm coming in," he said warily, entering the hearth. Standing up in the chimney flue he was able to better examine the wall. Ever since leaving the Park his ability to _see_ things, or at least how they worked, was increasing. It was similar to when his aunt had fixed the lock at the gate. He could see how things could change. Maybe the same type of thing was happening to Melissa and Spike that they all were going through some type of metamorphosis. The wall at the back of the fireplace was not solid; it was made of a type of thick gas that hung there stationary, like a curtain. Putting out his hand, he cautiously touched it and felt a cold tingling sensation as his fingers slid right through. He withdrew his hand quickly, making sure the ends of his fingers were still there, and then, quickly, with one bold motion, stepped through the curtain.

"Cool, eh!" exclaimed Spike in the dark.

Colin tried to look around, but the inky depths of darkness concealed everything. He held his hand up in front of his face, but couldn't see his fingers. Spike was just a disembodied voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I can't see a thing."

"I can. It's like seeing by the light of a full moon. I can't see any colors or anything, but I can see stuff."

Melissa reached out feeling for Spike's hand in the dark.

"Don't worry; I won't let anything happen to you. I think I see a ladder over here."

Led by Spike, both Melissa and Colin plodded along blindly through the darkness, shuffling their feet. It felt awkward, putting their trust in someone, who was, at the best of times, rather impulsive.

Let's climb them, see where they go!" said Spike excitedly ready to hurtle head long on what he hoped would be an adventure.

Colin cleared his throat, not entirely sure about this. "No, you go ahead, we'll stay here. Listen, if it goes somewhere we'll follow." He reached out and found Melissa's trembling hand.

"All right," said Spike who promptly began to climb, one rung at a time.

His shuffling steps filled the space above them with the constant muffled sounds of his progress. Then there was a pause. "I found something! I think it's a trap door. I'm going to try to move it." A shower of dust and dirt fell on Colin and Melissa, making them cough.

"Hey!" complained Colin brushing the dirt out of his hair.

"Sorry," replied Spike. "I should have it in a bit."

After a series of grunts and pants, the hatch broke free from whatever was holding it and swung open. Shafts of light stabbed down at them, dissipating the dark, causing them to shield their eyes. They saw Spike, his head and arms silhouetted against the opening, waving down at them.

"You've got to come up here. This is great!"

Melissa hesitated.

Colin urged her. "You go first. Then, if you slip, I'll catch you."

Somewhat mollified, but still not entirely sure, she started to climb. After a few halting moments, where she froze, and had to be calmly talked up, they eventually reached the top. They stepped out onto the flat roof of a round crenellated turret into the waning light of the late afternoon, and the fresh autumnal air.

Spike was already at the edge resting on the battlements and surveying the view. "You've got to see this! It's great!"

Colin and Melissa joined him.

They could see the tops of all the trees around Horwood House, their leaves rustling in the breeze, full with a rich redolence. It was hard to tell there was anything beyond the stone wall around the perimeter of the estate. From their vantage point, Horwood House was one world, while the flicker of cars rolling by the distant gate belonged to another.

"Look, down there," said Spike gesturing. "There's the red car parked by the gate, and someone is beside it. What was the name of the girl at soccer?"

"Rhea," answered Colin, wondering what Rhea had to do with the distant person. At this distance it was hard for him to see anything.

"Bright orange-red hair, right?"

"Yes."

"She has freckles, you never told me she had freckles, or maybe she's sick or something."

"Get out, she has freckles, but how can you see that? I can only make out the car, and a person, but no detail." Colin looked hard, and after a long moment, he saw a person moving beside the car. Not wondering further about how Spike could see, his heart leaped. One of the big motivators for going to school that morning had been the hope of seeing Rhea. Now she was here, outside the gate.

"You can actually see her freckles?"

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, "Yeah, can't you?"

"No, I can't!"

"Hey!" yelled Spike, waving his arms, not thinking that he might alert his aunt, "Up here!"

The girl looked up, hesitated, and then waved back.

"She sees us!" said Colin. He called out to Rhea, "It's me, Colin!"

The wave took on a more friendly motion. She slipped through the gate, disappeared beneath the canopy of the trees, but soon appeared moving quickly across the yard to the base of the turret where she stared up at them, a broad smile on her face.

Spike, who was now exploring the circumference of the turret, shouted from the other side. "Colin, tell her to come around here; there's another ladder over on this side!"

Sure enough, a black iron ladder ran down the outside of the stone work, out onto the sloping shingled roof, and down the side of the house, where they hoped it reached the ground. Colin slipped over the side and began to descend. Spike, beaming, turned to his sister; his legs already swung over the side.

"Coming?"

She shook her head, _no_.

"Smart choice," he said trying to quell his own fear. Just keep a look out; if you hear anything just throw something at us. See you in a bit."

Melissa hazarded a look over the edge and watched Spike and Colin making their way across the roof. They looked like two spiders, and then her adroit ear caught the soughing music of the wind moving in the leaves, demanding her full attention.

Colin, followed by Spike, dropped the last two meters because the ladder didn't fully reach the ground.

"I didn't know you lived here! Hey, school has been in for almost a week. Where have you been?" Rhea said to Colin, her sparkling green eyes alight with mischief. She looked at Spike and thrust out her hand. Spike took it hesitantly and shook it. "Hi, I'm Rhea."

"Spike—Spike, Pine," he said clumsily, not in the habit of making introductions.

"Yeah," she said, her eyes drifting warily over the stonework of the house, "so, where have you been?"

"Moving in," answered Colin.

"Yeah, I can see, but why here?"

Colin shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not?" she grabbed both their arms, pulling them close into her confidence. "You mean to say you've never heard about Zuhayer Bombast Horwood?"

Both Colin and Spike shook their heads in the negative. Colin said, "Should we?"

"Yeah!" she said, nodding incredulously, "He used to own this town -- and everybody in it -- but that was years ago . . . but people still remember. I can't say much right now because my mom is inside. I don't want her to catch me. I promised to stay by the car. I can tell you tomorrow, at school, if they've got the fire sorted out."

"Fire?" said both boys simultaneously.

"Yeah! We heard that some kids started a fire in the principal's Office. I'd hate to be them."

Colin and Spike looked chagrined and glanced away.

"No!" said Rhea, obviously pleased with her discovery. "You two?"

"No," said Spike feigning offense, "Melissa was there too."

"Sorry," she said, suddenly compassionate. "I suppose that's why my mom is here."

"What do you mean, that's why your mom is here?" asked Colin charily.

"My mom is an educational psychologist. They send her out when the board of education," she shrugged apologetically, "has to deal with kids like you. She's probably trying to set up some type of assessment before they let you into school."

"Good luck," groaned Colin. "Our aunt doesn't want us to go to school."

Rhea looked appalled. "She can't do that! It's against the law."

"Ha!" guffawed Spike, "They don't know our aunt, now do they! If she says we're not going to school, we're not going to school!"

In the quickly fading light, the boys had two simultaneous feelings, one of being watched, the other of being stalked. The first would have been enough to cause the hairs on their skin to prickle, but the two sensations together made them tingle uncontrollably. They looked around, unable to locate the source, then stared haplessly at each other. Something was about to happen and the heavy feeling in the pits of their stomachs indicated that it wasn't going to be good.

"You remember on the soccer field, after our last game, there was that shadow that grew?" asked Rhea, her voice becoming stealthily quiet.

Colin nodded, scanning the grass around them, searching for a black dot. Spike began to fidget, moving his weight restlessly from one foot to the other.

"It's the same feeling, isn't it?" Rhea continued.

"Yeah, but I can't see where it's coming from. You should be able to see it grow. That's its behavior. It grows from a dot, but it only grows if you see it," explained Colin.

"Maybe it has changed. After all, I mean, we're changing," said Spike. "Maybe it's not going to let us know it's coming anymore."

"What is _it_?"

"Nixes," whispered Colin, "Shadow Nixes."

From high up on the roof, Melissa had a perfect vantage point. Although Spike, Colin, and the girl were now out of view, she had a perfect line of sight of the tree, the statue block, and the expansive front yard. Two things alarmed her. First, she saw a black squirrel scampering adroitly along the ridge cap of the roof, its black, bushy tail flouncing high in the air. There was nothing unusual about that; black squirrels were common in Rivertown. What was unusual was that the squirrel had green, glowing eyes. She could tell this because, as the squirrel was passing over the roof, it stopped and quickly turned to stare up at where she was. Fortunately, she ducked down keeping out of sight before being spotted by it. Cautiously, she ventured another peek over the edge, just in time to see the squirrel leaping from the roof's ridge cap into the bushy crown of an oak tree -- the oak tree right above her brother! Melissa had the distinct feeling that the black squirrel was spying. Then a black spot forming at the base of the statue tore her attention away from the squirrel. At such a distance, it must have been quite large. The shadow expanded, changing, taking on the form of a large dog sniffing the air. Then it bounded off in the direction of Colin and Spike. If she didn't warn them, they wouldn't have enough time to react. Frantically she began groping about desperately; her hand came in contact with a little stone. She picked it up, drew back her arm and threw it out into the air. Gazing down at her necklace, she noticed that not only was it glowing, but it was vibrating as though something was trying to get out.

"Ow!" said Spike, his hand going to the top of his head, "What..." then he remembered their predetermined warning signal and saw the pebble that had just hit him. He looked at Colin who was thinking the same thing.

"Melissa!" they said together.

Rhea looked at them and nodded. "You've got to go. Listen, can you get away from here tomorrow evening, about the same time? If you can, meet me at the library; there are some things you need to know about Horwood House. And you can tell me more about the Nixes."

Colin agreed and ran to the fire escape. He jumped, caught the bottom rung, and with a series of grunts, pulled himself up. Spike wasn't so lucky. A little bit shorter than Colin, he kept missing the bottom rung.

"Just a minute," said Rhea coming up behind him. "Here, step in my hands. I'll give you a boost."

Spike stepped placed the sole of his right foot into Rhea's clasped hands, and grabbed for Colin's hand, caught it, and dangled, his legs flailing about. Rhea, from below, tried to push up on his feet, and caught a flailing leg against her head.

"Hey!" she complained.

"Sorry," apologized Spike who continued to swing about.

As this was happening, they didn't see the fully developed Shadow Nix dog loping around the corner ready to spring at them. Looking up, Spike saw Colin's eyes widen, but that was all the warning they had.

Just as the Shadow Nix was about to fall upon them the sound of rushing wind and feathers intercepted it. A huge black raven dove, its scimitar-like beak flashing. Barely missing Colin's head, it veered away causing him to release his grip. Both Spike and Rhea fell to the ground. The Raven dove again and again, its talons visibly raking the smoky dark outline of the Nix dog, creating tears in it, causing it to retreat. The battle continued around the corner of the house and out of sight.

"What was that?" asked Rhea.

Neither Colin nor Spike uttered a word. They had never seen anything that could affect a Nix like that. The Raven, feather's bristling victoriously, a blue light flashing in its dark button-like eyes, landed on a branch above their heads and regarded them considerately. Then giving a rich, musical, croaking call, flapped into the air and without announcement attacked a black squirrel sequestered in the tree. The squirrel's desperate chatters were lost beneath the humorous laughter of the Raven.

"Something tells me we better get back to our room, fast!" said Spike, reaching for Colin's waiting hands.

Chapter Six: New Skills

"Spike, you _will_ clean the bathrooms, sinks, tubs, floors, and walls, but you _will_ pay particular attention to those disgusting toilets. Colin, you _will_ scrub the stairs, and Melissa, you _will_ assist Ofelia in dusting the house, and then, if there is anything that Ofelia needs you three to do, you _will_ do it, and you _will_ do it promptly!" commanded Grizzelda, her _wills_ trying to annihilate any free will that existed in her charges, but behind the nodding heads it had the opposite effect. Engrossed in her own agenda, Grizzelda slipped into her cloak, hat, and gloves -- all black, her signature color. Colin couldn't remember a day when his aunt had not dressed in black. With a final jab of her finger in their direction--which meant _'You'd better follow my instructions!'_ \-- she left. Indeed, even though she had departed, she left behind a black overcast cloud.

The three of them turned and looked at Ofelia for pity, but all she did was shrug. "What can I do? I am only the house-keeper," she said, before bustling cheerfully off to the kitchen to get their cleaning supplies.

Soon, Spike was muttering something discontentedly as he carried the pail, plunger, scrub brush, and cleaning supplies towards the downstairs bathrooms. He discovered, much to his chagrin, that all thirteen of them were filthy --the porcelain turned to a sickening, deep rust color by age and disuse.

Melissa, of the three, was by far the more upbeat. Being told to assist Ofelia had instantly put her in a good mood. The two made an immediate connection; kindred spirits, they were. With white dust masks capping their noses and mouths, and large pink feather dusters in hand, they looked like bizarre witch doctors heading for the jungle of Horwood House.

Colin with his own bucket sloshing with sudsy water, took his appointed position at the top of the wide stairs. If he worked fast, he could probably have it done in a few hours, the problem was there were at least three sets of stairs--on each level, and there were three levels to the house.

After about ten minutes of intense scrubbing he found, by accident, an easier, much quicker way. While dipping the brush into the bucket he spilled some water out onto the wooden stair. He went to wipe up the water, and as a result, the stair was left clean. It appeared that by soaking the stairs first, the dirt came easily off the rich wood surface. In the bubbles, his blurred but glossy image stared back at him, and all of a sudden, he was falling past the image and into the very suds. Millions of little bubbles spun and vibrated around him. They were moving so fast that many of them were just splotches. If they would only stop he could get a better look. As though he had given a command, the bubbles abruptly stopped in mid air. He reached out and touched one.

"Oww!" he said, pulling back his stinging finger. As suddenly as he had left, he was back again kneeling by the scrub bucket, staring at his finger. Where had he gone? His knees felt painfully cold. He looked down. The water on the stairs was frozen along with the water in the bucket. Trying to stand, he slipped and fell, sliding and bumping all the way to the bottom of the stairs. He lay there on his back, staring up at the frozen tip of his finger. It wasn't melting! Then it hit him: he had done this by willing the little bubbles to stop! He began to wonder, what would happen if he could make the bubbles go faster? Flipping himself back up onto his feet, he glared at the ice on the stairs and fell into it. Again he found the frozen bubbles and told them to move faster, as fast as they could. A sudden mist and hiss of hot steam hit him full in the face sending him staggering back. He blinked, clearing his vision. The stairs were dry and cleaner than he could ever have imagined!

Running to the kitchen, he found a big, stiff bristled broom, refilled his pail with water and soap and ran up to the top of the stairs. For a moment he hesitated, then with one deft motion he upended the pail sending the soapy water cascading down over the stairs. Working the broom furiously, he pushed it back and forth, mixing the dirt with the water and soap until he had finished. Then he made the water evaporate turning it into a massive steam cloud that curled up into the air where it dissipated, leaving the stairs pristine and sparkling.

"Wow," he said, awe struck with his newly discovered ability. Now he knew exactly how his aunt had opened the rusted lock! He too could change the nature of how things behaved.

He could barely contain his excitement. The longest part of the job would no longer be the scrubbing but the refilling of his mop bucket. Within a half-an-hour he finished all the stairs. Admiring his work, he turned and ran to tell Spike. He found him stooped over a toilet, his ear positioned just above the water in the bowl, listening attentively.

"I didn't know that toilets could talk," joked Colin.

Spike waved him down eagerly.

"You've got to listen to this. It's really strange," said Spike returning his ear to the water.

At the best of times Spike was strange, thought Colin, as he looked apprehensively into the dirty bowl of water. Spike's superficial cleaning attempt was obvious. The water was, with the cleaner in it, a stagnant milky orange color. He listened carefully, but all he could hear were the bubbles of the cleaner in the water. Maybe the fumes were getting to Spike.

"No, no, don't you hear it? It sounds like the water somewhere – outside. Odd, eh?" said Spike fascinated.

Colin was about to tease Spike but stopped himself. If he could really hear the water lapping on some unseen, distant shore . . . Colin decided to try to enter the murky water in the toilet like the water on the stairs. Again the bubbles vibrated and spun about, but these were interlaced with a murky orange substance. He tried pushing through them and, in doing so, slipped into a long, dark tunnel. His view, or the feeling of being constricted, exploded out onto a wide-open plane. In a bit of a panic, he was ready to pull back; then he noticed a dark brown sluggish weight that he guessed to be the shore. He must have reached the river. By the edge, swinging out and in, two strangely glowing translucent bars of light flashed. They had the feel of a Nix about them, but different. Instead of jealousy, greed, and bleakness, these were feelings of compassion, generosity, and joy. He was about to attempt a closer look when a hand on his shoulder brought him back into himself.

"You heard it! I knew you would hear it!" exclaimed Spike.

_Whatever IT is_ thought Colin, nodding.

"What do you think it is?" asked Spike.

Colin shrugged. "I don't know. It felt like a Nix, but it was different. There was no shadow."

"I know what you mean," he said, the excitement of discovery animating his features. "Do you think there are such things as Water, or Light Nixes?"

"I don't know, but listen..."

Colin told him about his experience with the water-- slowing it down and freezing it, speeding it up and vaporizing it, changing it with his thoughts from a liquid to a solid or to vapor. A wide eyed Spike nodded, adding that his enhanced ability to hear and see was like looking into waves and being able to ride on them, allowing him to get closer to what he was focusing on. He wondered if this would eventually apply to their sense of smell, taste, and touch. And, of course, Melissa was able to snatch music out of the air. The boys wished they understood why these things were happening to them, but for now the novelty of their newly-discovered gifts kept them from worrying.

"So," said Spike, "do you think you could do your trick and loosen up some of the gunk on this bowl?"

"How many bowls have you done?" asked Colin.

"None," said Spike sheepishly, "this is my first one. I got listening to the Water Nix, or whatever it was, and sort of lost track of time."

Colin peered into the bowl. "I can give it a try."

First he heated up the water so that the grime on the enamel expanded, allowing the cleanser to get at it; then he cooled it down. "Try it now, give it a stir."

Spike stuck in his brush and twirled it about then flushed. The enamel sparkled as the water flooded back into the bowl. Spike looked up mesmerized. "This is most excellent!"

The other twelve bathrooms were done in a haze of euphoric cleaning. Never knowing cleaning could be such fun, they were almost about to dance, and that's when they heard it--the singing, accompanied by the melodious notes of a piano. Spike had felt the music first, like gentle ululating waves, but not sure of it, he remained silent until Colin heard it too. It swelled and rolled down the long, dark hall they were in, wrapped about them and melted like liquefied honey, it was so sweet. Following it, they turned the corner, stepped into the library, and stumbled onto a strange scene.

Melissa and Ofelia were waltzing about the room, turning and gliding among the numerous tables and chairs. They moved effortlessly, Ofelia leading, Melissa following, with the smooth polish of much practice. Even with the muffling effect of the rows and columns of books on all the walls, the music was clear and permeating. What Colin and Spike found riveting was that neither Ofelia's nor Melissa's mouths were moving. Where was the singing coming from? The piano over in the corner of the room played on without any visible pianist, but where was the voice? Above their heads, working furiously on the top row of books, two large pink dusters flared in the middle of a dust storm. Perplexed as to the source of the voice Colin craned his neck surveying the room. A particular high note in the operatic waltz punctuated their ears like the prodding of a painfully sharp needle, and finally gave away the singer's location.

On the mantle above the large fireplace, at the end of the library sat a bust of a narrow-faced woman who, oddly enough, looked like Aunt Grizzelda, except kinder looking. The statue's mouth was making wild contortions as it sang.

Ofelia and Melissa saw Colin and Spike and abruptly stopped dancing. The room dropped into a cold, embarrassed silence; the statue going from animate to inanimate.

"Awesome," said Spike nearly dropping his pail.

Like deer caught in the headlights, Melissa and Ofelia just stood there. For the first time, Ofelia did not have a smile on her face; the whites of her eyes stood out starkly against her dark brown skin, possessed by an inexplicable fear. Melissa, shaking off the static discomfort of the moment, picked up a pad and pencil and wrote a note and handed it to Spike: "We didn't expect you to be done so early. She's like us."

"What do you mean, she's like us?" asked Spike.

Melissa grabbed the pad away from Spike and impatiently scribbled a few more lines: "She's like us. Just like a sister."

"A sister! No way!" retorted Spike, not meaning to sound rude, but sounding that way anyway.

Melissa's blue eye became dominant, cold frost settling on it. She set her chin defiantly.

"All right, a sister," conceded Spike.

"I don't think he meant anything by it," offered Ofelia. "I think he just thinks I'm a bit too old to be your sister."

"That's what I meant," said Spike who had stepped back defensively from his bridling sibling. He knew better than to get her mad. "I'm glad Grizzelda didn't get rid of the piano."

Melissa smiled, nodding her head emphatically.

Ofelia looked at them apologetically. "It's hard to keep a job when you're... _different..._ Let me explain."

Beneath the gaze of the bust that resembled Grizzelda, sitting in the cushy library chairs in front of the fireplace, they talked.

Ofelia explained how she had been able to make things _sing_ , how as a little girl she made her dolls perform entire operas, until the day she was caught by her stepmother. Her stepmother, a very pious and self-righteous woman, with hair that always seemed too tightly bound up, thought Ofelia was possessed, and immediately took her and the dolls to the local priest. After a lengthy interview, the kind, old man, concluded that he was simply dealing with a very intelligent, very talented young girl. Just how the dolls were made to sing, he had no idea, but given the stepmother's highly stressed condition, he deduced she must have been seeing things. He provided some words of comfort and told Ofelia's stepmother he didn't think the phenomenon would repeat itself. However, Ofelia's stepmother was a very influential woman and as such insisted that he conduct an exorcism on the dolls.

The second time Ofelia was discovered, she was conducting "Die Walkure," from Wagner's Nibelungen Cycle. Her stepmother stuffed her and her dolls into the car and drove for days. On a cold, wet night she abandoned her and her dolls in the middle of the wilderness. There was no champion to rescue her, her father having died two years before. Ofelia, being so young, was never able to find her way home, but her skill of making things sing kept her safe. People who might have hurt or abused her fled when her dolls started to sing. One particular unctuous fellow turned himself in to the police after her dolls came at him singing from the "Ride of the Valkyries." She liked the idea of women flying about the air with protective and vengeful zeal. When he saw a female officer, a large blond women, he started screaming. The police sent him for psychiatric testing.

Eventually, Ofelia fell in with a touring circus of entertainers that appeared one night when the moon was full and she was all alone. She had asked them what language they were speaking only earning a smile as a response. Over time, she learned the strange language known only to them, and there she made her home for a while. But always, deep inside, she yearned for a real home and a loving family. By becoming a housekeeper, she was able to have a real home, of sorts, and that helped.

"Now, what about you two?" said Ofelia. "I know what Melissa can do, but not what you can do."

"I have real good hearing," volunteered Spike with enthusiasm, trusting Ofelia without reservation. "We're talking about really awesome hearing, not just your average human hearing! And I have super-excellent sight. It's all rather recent...since we left the Park..."

Colin caught him with a warning look, but Ofelia, much to her credit, didn't ask anything about Pansy Patch, or where they had come from. To her, it simply wasn't important enough to put their newfound trust in jeopardy. The children were beginning to feel that they had found an ally, and a friend.

"And what about you?" asked Ofelia of Colin.

He shrugged. "I can change things." Not really intending to, he told her about his ability to affect water in different ways. He blurted it all out to her, and when he was done, he felt relieved.

Still, there was an uncomfortable silence when they ran out of things to talk about. Ofelia slapped her hands on her thighs, ready to push herself out of the chair.

"So, what are we going to do now?" she asked.

Colin and Spike misunderstood the question becoming suddenly tight wondering if she was going to tell their aunt.

"No, no! Not what are _we_ going to do about _you_ , but what are we going to do right now? I'm assuming you have no cleaning left to do?"

They grinned.

"Well, then. If you've gotten all the work done, you can either stay here, or come grocery shopping with me."

Melissa decided to go with Ofelia, while Colin elbowed Spike to get him to stay behind with him.
"Why did you do that?" complained Spike rubbing his arm as they watched Ofelia and Melissa leave the house. "I wanted to go. You know, FOOD!" he said euphorically, contemplating the last word.

"I've been wondering," said Colin stealthily, "about the gold. I mean, where did Grizzelda get it? We certainly didn't have any while we were in Pansy Patch, so..."

"So," said Spike, his eyes sparkling, "it has to be somewhere in the house!"

"Exactly!"

***

Their initial search revealed nothing but a house that, oddly enough, seemed even larger on the inside than on the outside. Some hallways went in straight lines; however, others went in circles. The harder they searched the more confused and disoriented they got, until it dawned on Colin that they should ask Sergeant Peary.

Given the last fiasco, when Sergeant Peary had nearly burned down the school, Colin was reticent to call on his guardian spirit. Still, Grandfather Thunder must have had his reasons for asking Peary to look out for him, so the boys slipped down into what they were now affectionately calling the 'dungeon,' and made their way to the wine cellar. Sure enough they found the superhero there smoking his perpetually burning cigar, crouched on the floor, and spinning an empty bottle. The dark green bottle spun, blurring until it slowed and finally stopped, its neck pointing to where Colin and Spike were standing. Sergeant Peary looked up making a sour face.

"I hope you're not expecting me to kiss you?" he said jumping up to his feet, the momentum carrying his spirit body off the ground where it floated just beneath the ceiling. He kicked his feet against it to return himself to the floor, "Well, now that's settled, what can I do for you two stalwart lads?"

"We need information," said Colin, beginning to second-guess his decision to seek out the Sergeant.

"You've come to the right place," said Peary, rubbing his hands together in delight and spinning about even faster than the bottle. When he stopped spinning, he was wearing a detective's trench coat and a roguishly tilted fedora. "Well gents, what can I do you for?"

Colin tried to ignore Peary's bizarre chameleon-like behavior. The bloodstain over the ghost's chest, even with different clothing, was still there. "How well do you know Horwood House?"

Peary stroked his chin. "If I had much of a memory, I would say, I've known it all my life, but you know, ghosts aren't allowed to have memories. You have bits and parts that float around, but nothing you can really hold onto, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to share much, you know, Section 1.5 of the Ghost Protocol Convention." He leaned forward as though somebody was trying to eavesdrop. "The ghost union is very particular about the things spirits can and can't do. If I break too many rules..." He drew a threatening line across his throat with his smoldering cigar.

"Yeah, right, we really believe you. What are they going to do to you?" grinned Spike. "You're already dead!"

Sergeant Peary tilted his fedora back, a sober look on his face. "You'd be surprised what they can do. They could send me into the light, and then where would you be? No guardian spirit, no protection!"

"Is that where the dead go?" asked Colin, "Into the light?"

Sergeant Peary paused, and for a moment was about to tell them more, when he shook his head, "Better left unsaid. Now, listen, I'm not kidding about not being able to tell you things outright, but I can answer certain questions."

"Right," started Colin briskly, "then, is there any money in Horwood House, and where is it?"

Sergeant Peary picked up the empty bottle he had been spinning and looked into it, using it like a crystal ball, then he nodded when he found a suitable answer. His transparent form took on a darker hue. "This is relatively difficult -- painful. This house _is_ money. Can't you smell it, in the walls, in the floors, in hidden chambers? You have to know where to look, and to do that you have to think like the Old Man," said Peary, his entire body seeming to sag when he said 'Old Man.'

"The Old Man?" asked Colin, feeling the weight of the phrase pressing into him. "I thought you couldn't remember things."

"Yeah, Zuhayer Bombast Horwood, the House's master. I wish I could forget him."

"So, you can show us where he kept the gold then?" cut in Spike, a strange glitter in his eyes.

Peary shook his head sadly. "No, I can't show you where the Old Man's gold is. Like I said, you have to crawl inside his head, and mores the pity for the poor soul who does that." He was becoming more and more transparent, vanishing into the stale air of the wine cellar.

"Hey, wait!" started Spike but was stopped when Colin grabbed his sleeve. "What's up with him? It's like something just sucked all the life out of him. Sorry, you know what I mean."

A further search of the house revealed nothing but an endless warren of passages and rooms. Exhausted, they gave up and were left to ponder Sergeant Peary's cryptic statement that the house was money.

***

Ofelia was in the kitchen listening to a small painting of a man singing a solo from _Die Fledermaus._ Melissa was beside her chopping carrots.

"Ofelia," began Colin tentatively.

"Yes?" she smiled, flicking a finger towards the portrait that continued to sing in slightly diminished tones.

"Our aunt, is she coming back for dinner?"

"No, she's not. She gave me instructions that I was to stay the night."

Melissa looked as though she couldn't be happier.

"After supper, if you and Spike were to go to your rooms and turn in because you were feeling a bit sick, I would _understand_." She punctuated the word _understand_ with her riveting brown eyes.

"Melissa, could you pass me the pepper?"

Supper came and went uneventfully. After they inhaled it, they feigned having upset stomachs and went promptly to bed, as they had been instructed. Then they climbed into the fireplace, up the stairs, down the roof, and paused only when they were outside the stone wall.

"Do you think she knows?" asked Spike.

Colin nodded. He wasn't sure how much she knew, but he suspected Melissa had told Ofelia about the meeting they had planned with Rhea, why else would she suggest they could leave.

It wasn't far to the library. They negotiated the traffic on the road, crossed a high bridge spanning the river and after cutting through a parking lot and passing Town Hall, they arrived at the library, a modest, old building with a flat roof. On either side of the doors, just above the wide lintel and narrow, stained-glass windows were two bas-relief figures in limestone--two cloaked women, hands pressed together in prayer, looking down at them out of their blind, limestone eyes. Unlike the big marble slab outside Horwood House, the figures were tender and meditative entirely swaddled in cloth. Colin wondered what solemn, angelic sounds they would make if they were to sing.

Rhea burst out of the doors her mop of red hair falling wildly about her face. She waved them in.

"Come on! Come on! My mom thinks I'm at band practice. I have to be in front of the school at 9, waiting for her to pick me up."

She stopped in mid sentence and stepped aside to let a surly, old man with a wary face hobble by. He grunted his begrudged gratitude at the girl holding the door open.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Colin.

Rhea shrugged and led the boys to the front desk where she presented her card and requested the use of one of the microfiche readers along with the _Occasional Observer_ film rolls for the 20th Century.

The librarian, whose waxen face was regarding the back of a book, slowly tilted it up, eyelids blinking over her large, bulbous eyes. Everything about the woman seemed bland. Her dress was the same color as her parchment-like skin, and had she not moved, she would have continued to blend in with the drab walls. It was as though something sour was about to escape her lips, but instead her eyes rested on the two boys and she swallowed hard. She forced an unnatural smile.

"Yes, of course. You can have reader one. I'll get the films," she said.

As they followed Rhea away from the desk, Colin glanced back and the other librarian, who seemed to be cloned from the first, was also staring at them. It unnerved him.

"What's wrong with them?" asked Colin as he shivered, in an attempt to shake the eyes from his back.

"Must be your clothes," whispered Rhea. "Ms. Donlevy and Miss Pepperidge haven't seen that much color around here in a long time. Be careful to whisper, or you'll get us thrown out."

"My clothes? What's wrong with my clothes?" Colin stared down at his multi-colored sleeve and removed his vibrant blue knitted cap.

"Well, you have to admit they're pretty colorful," she said, taking the stairs up to the second level. The microfiche films were kept far away from the machines, because the librarians were picky about who was looking at what.

"Sure, but they're only colorful because everybody in this town dresses like they're just back from a funeral," said Colin defending himself.

Rhea gave a low, suppressed laugh, and stopped at reader number one. The same elderly gentleman, who had pushed by them at the entrance, was hunched over the reader giving them the impression of a vulture waiting for its prey to stop moving. The noisy whirl of the machine punctuated the silence of the library, sending ghostly images of news copy and pictures across the screen. As they sat down, the man stopped pressing the forward button, and the sound came to an abrupt stop.

"Ssssh," he hissed wetly through his pursed lips. He had been licking them in anticipation of some delectable morsel from the past.

Rhea sat down smiling apologetically. Colin and Spike pulled up chairs to her right, away from the number two reader. Then Ms. Pepperidge's knobby hand appeared and deposited three small boxes in front of them. Colin turned around, but the books had already absorbed the woman; she was like some strange phantom. Rhea threaded the first film into the machine, pressed the power button, and it whirled to life. Images and print blurred past them at incredible speed, days, weeks, months, years passing incomprehensibly before their eyes, or so it seemed to Rhea and Colin. But for Spike, he could actually see the pictures and the print. He was able to compensate for the speed, by mentally slowing the spinning reels down.

"Wait!" said Spike abruptly. "Back it up! No, really, back it up. There's something about Horwood House being built."

Rhea cast a dubious glance at Colin, who responded with a shrug, but she pressed the rewind.

"Stop."

Sure enough, there, heading the page was a picture of Horwood House three quarters built, looking much as it did today. Above it the caption read: CASTLE CONSTRUCTION DESPAIR. Beside the main picture was a headshot of the same man in the portrait that hung in the parlor at Horwood House, except the photo was taken a few years later on in his life. In the photo, he wasn't alone; beside him was a luminous woman – the same woman whose bust was singing in the library! Where he glowered out from the darkness, she shone forth like the moon.

"Look at that," whispered Rhea gently, "the construction of Horwood House was halted because of the death of Charlotte Horwood, born 1880, died 1916. It says she died of a mysterious, wasting disease. Poor woman. I never knew that. It says he was building the house for her." Rhea's fingers followed the text down the table- screen, "It says she was survived by two children, Peary, aged 2, and Emily, aged 1

"Scan ahead," said Spike, looking out for further possibilities. "Let's find out more." He was sitting on the edge of his seat leaning in intensely.

Colin, too, was sitting on the edge of his seat; however, something was bothering him, something he had read, but its relevance eluded him. Whatever it was, it made him feel very ill at ease.

Rhea pressed the fast-forward; Spike raised his hand signaling for her to stop. In this manner, they were able to proceed rapidly through the years, finding more about Horwood House than they had thought possible. They learned of the growing eccentricity of Zuhayer Horwood. It seemed that the death of his wife had launched him into a career of odd behavior. He had a statue commissioned, but refused to let the artist work on it. He held sumptuous banquets and invited no one, with the food being unceremoniously dumped outside the next day. He took up parading about in black armor draped with a blood red sash. It all seemed fairly harmless until he bought vicious guard dogs to patrol the property night and day. Just where the two young Horwood children fit into the context of this, they hadn't a clue. They were into the third reel when Spike said "Stop!" a bit too loudly, alerting the disapproving eye of Ms. Pepperidge who was now shuffling the books on the shelves behind them.

Rhea read the headline: "WAR HERO KILLED IN ACTION. Sergeant Peary Horwood, a member of the Queen's Own Rifles, was killed in combat during the final offensive into..."

"Sergeant Peary?" said the boys in unison.

Rhea stopped reading, acknowledging their outburst. "Sergeant Peary, that's what it says."

"What's the date on that?" asked Colin.

"1945," answered Rhea.

"That would make him about 31 years old."

Colin and Spike looked at each other in knowing silence, and felt as though the Sergeant was looking over their shoulder, encouraging them to go on. For a moment they thought about telling Rhea about the ghost, but hesitated too long; the reader was spinning again.

"Stop," said Spike, his mouth going dry.

Rhea read the screen, "1955, Emily Horwood dies of a mysterious wasting illness." She paused and looked at Colin, "Just like her mother. How tragic. Listen to this. 'The year before she died, she gave birth to twin girls.' It doesn't mention their names."

The reader whirred again, taking them into darker directions, places where the sadness was as palpable as the librarian still lurking behind them was, bulbous eyes watching them meticulously.

Spike was also feeling the weight of the eyes pressing down on him, but when he saw the death notice, he had to stop Rhea, even though he didn't want to. They were getting closer to digging up the past that revealed why Horwood House had remained empty all those years.

"Oh, no, look here one of the sisters dies in a drowning accident in 1972. That's odd," she said staring harder. "Their names are blacked out. The film made a flapping sound as it ran out. "Hand me another roll."

"We're out," said Colin. "Maybe we have to get more from the librarian."

"There are no more," the waspish voice of Ms. Pepperidge jutted sharply into their ears as she stuck her nose in over their shoulders, peering, with a keen interest, at what they were viewing.

A hacking cough from Reader #2 reminded them that the man there had likely been eavesdropping, too. "Burned to the ground!" he said, making no attempt to suppress his gloom. "We wrote about the Horwood curse, and that miscreant burned the entire newspaper building to the ground. I remember the names of his granddaughters--most people in the town remember, but they won't tell you, none of them will tell you. Nothing but a bunch of cowards!"

The librarian struck, her hand flashing in over Rhea's shoulder pulling the unwound reel off the reader. "I think it's time you children went home," she said acerbically, flashing the old man a warning glance. " _You_ wrote lies, and you know it! Those names are best forgotten!" Scooping up the other reels she trundled away and down the stairs.

"What was that all about?" asked Spike.

"Don't pay any attention to her," wheezed the old man. "She's just afraid of the curse. Most people are. They think if they talk about Zuhayer, or his granddaughters, he might come back. He was a mean one, even meaner than me," he gave a hacking cough in appreciation of his own joke.

"My mom told me about some of it, but not this," said Rhea. "I didn't know there was so much tragedy."

The old man, his eyes milky with age, glanced at the vacant stairs, making sure the librarian was truly gone. "You're lucky. That witch never lets anybody see those films. I've been trying to get a peek for years. The way you were moving through those microfilms, it was as though you knew where to look. Impressive. You would make good newsmen." He leaned in, rubbing the end of his wet nose. "I'll tell you something else you probably don't know. The one surviving Horwood girl just disappeared after the drowning. Some say the girl that drowned had been pregnant, and that the drowning wasn't an accident, that it was murder. Don't know if that's true or not because the old man died soon after the drowning. I wouldn't put it past Horwood. He was so overstuffed with ideas of honor and loyalty that he couldn't see the end of his own nose. Some say he died of a broken heart, but personally, I don't believe he had a heart."

The old man suddenly shot out his blue-veined, gnarled hand and shook theirs. His grip was surprisingly strong for such a frail-looking person. "Name is Hugh Dundas."

"Is your son..." started Colin.

"The real-estate agent? Yep, the boy has been a disappointment ever since he was born."

Colin felt as though a carefully laid trap was closing about them. Had Dundas been there, waiting for them to come to the library, waiting for them to use the readers? He shifted uneasily in his chair.

"I have to thank you. Those reels, I've been trying to see those for years. I've wanted to find the reason why Zuhayer would burn down the newspaper and ruin my father's life. You see, the paper he burned, _The Occasional Observer_ , was my father's and mine."

"What were the names of the granddaughters, the twins?" asked Colin. "If you don't mind me asking?"

He shook his head sadly, "One of the girl's names was Millicent; the other, the one that drowned, was..." The old man knew, but held back.

"You know!" accused Colin, a surprising gush of anger welling up inside him from some unknown source, "but you're too scared to say it!" Colin was connected to that unknown name; he knew it, and he was desperate to know it!

"I'm not afraid of Horwood," said Hugh vehemently, fire burning behind the opaque milky color out of his eyes, and then the flame extinguished as quickly as it was lit. "Listen," he whispered cryptically, leaning in toward them in confidence, "Horwood is still with us."

"You just said he was dead," said Rhea, looking at him aghast.

"Look, he was buried in a crypt beneath that cursed house of his but he's no longer there. And the girl's name . . . the girl who drowned . . . her name was, Sarah."

Chapter Seven: Seven for Dinner

Even though Rhea's mom continued to visit the house periodically, Grizzelda showed no sign of allowing the children to go to school. During these meetings or, rather, arguments, Spike would apply his newly-acquired super hearing, and relate the details back to Melissa and Colin, who were waiting anxiously for the interpretation of the verbal explosions happening downstairs. The meetings always followed an order. First, Mrs. Li would try to reason with Grizzelda, appeal to her sense of justice, then, after being rebuffed by Grizzelda's cold, impersonal refusals, she would plead with her, and when that didn't work, she'd descend into the hopeless world of threats. "By the law," she'd cite, "the children have to be in school, if they are not, then the authorities can take the children from you."

Needless to say, Grizzelda's response was always the same: aggressive. "You think that _your_ authority frightens me? You have no authority here. If I wanted to, I could command the floors of this house to open up and swallow you! I permit you to come here only because you amuse me. I am the only authority here! Send them! Send your so-called authorities! Try to take the children, and then you will see. Now, leave my house. This interview is over!"

There would be a pause as Mrs. Li departed through the front door in frustration; but before she escaped outside, Grizzelda would blast away with one last salvo.

"Oh, and please come back. I do enjoy our little tête-à- tête!"

And so each meeting ran, more or less.

When Grizzelda was at home, they avoided her. When she was out, Colin and Spike were able to do their cleaning quickly, which allowed them the time to search for the treasure -- and, Zuhayer's crypt.

On several occasions, under the pretense of being sick or having a doctor or dentist's appointment, Rhea slipped away from school to join them. She and the boys would explore the shadowy stone passages in the dungeon.

Initially, they encountered a few problems. There was no electricity in many parts of the dungeon. Normally, they would have just grabbed a flashlight, however, under Grizzelda's dominion, there were no working flashlights allowed. "Light, or the true nature of light, should come from within," she had said in her familiar encrypted language. They had no idea what she was talking about and just put it down as a side effect of her growing peculiarities.

This posed somewhat of a barrier in that the only alternative was to use candlelight. They scrounged up a small supply of candles, but these lasted only a few afternoons. This is where the eternally eavesdropping Sergeant Peary, guardian spirit, proved handy -- for once. He called them into the supply room, next to the wine cellar, walked over to a well-stocked cabinet labeled "Candles", and pointed to it with his smoldering stogie, complaining how it should be something more explosive.

So it was, by the light of flickering candles, which cast unsettling ghoulish shadows on the walls that seemed awfully real at times, that the children did their investigating.

On one such visit, Rhea held the light out in front of them while Colin and Spike ran their searching hands along the cold, damp sides of the passage they were walking down. Colin found something on the stone wall, a circular eyebolt, the same type as on the front door, except the entwined snakes here were actually moving. He jerked his hand back in fright.

"Awesome," said Spike putting his nose closer to the circuit-running snakes than he needed to.

Rhea took a step back, fumbling with the candle, startled by the sight. "Gross! This is definitely weird. You're not going to touch it again are you?" she said, watching Colin's hands.

"You think we should call Sergeant Peary?" asked Spike.

Rhea had already met the ghost and wasn't impressed by his smoking. To her, bad habits were bad habits, whether you were dead or alive.

Sergeant Peary hadn't materialized very often lately. Ever since their discovery in the library, and their sharing of Horwood genealogy with Sergeant Peary, his facetious jocularity had turned to a morose moodiness.

"I suppose I should try to talk to him," said Colin continuing to stare at the writhing snakes. "Sergeant?" he called timidly into the dark. The word seemed to fall away just beyond the light of the candle like a lead weight.

When he thought he wasn't going to get an answer, Sergeant Peary's unshaven face popped into view, a black beret angled on the side of his head. It looked as though he hadn't shaved for days, not that ghosts could shave; for a moment he wondered how he could so easily change his appearance. Then Sergeant Peary's blood-shot eyes turned on him accusingly.

"Oh, _you._ What do _you_ want now? Come to tell me that I'm related to Ghengis Kahn or Adolf Hitler?"

"This," said Colin pointing at the snakes.

"Looks like a door handle. Now if that's all you want, I'll be off to wallow in my misery, if you don't mind?" He turned to leave but Rhea said something that stopped him, making his shoulders go narrow.

"We're trying to find your father's crypt," said Rhea.

"I know," said Peary, his shoulders shuddering, "I know _exactly_ what you're trying to find. I spent years dreaming about escaping this place, about getting free of the Old Man, but here I am, back here. You think they could've sent me to haunt some Bavarian castle with kegs of beer, but no, they had to send me back here! Do you know why I never visit his crypt? It's not because I can't. I can go through the walls if I want to. So, watch my lips, homies, so you won't be mistaken. It – is – because – I – don't – care! Now, if you don't mind, there's a bottle waiting to take a spin in the wine cellar!"

"Then this is the crypt?"

"Yes, it's the crypt."

"Before you go, how do we get in?" asked Colin, trying to ignore Peary's snippiness.

"To get in, just grab the handle!" With that he disappeared.

Overcoming his apprehension, Colin took hold of the ring. Immediately he realized it was a mistake. If he could have run, he would have, but the ring held his hand fast, as if it had been cemented there. The snakes detached themselves from the metal, and began crawling up over his knuckles and onto his arms.

"Sergeant Peary!" cried Colin, his voice breaking with fear.

"Don't worry," sighed the soldier, his tired voice emerging from somewhere down the dark passageway, "it's just the lock mechanism becoming disengaged. It'll all be over in a few moments." Then he mumbled something that sounded distinctly like 'nasty old goat.'

Colin stared with horror at his arms as the slithering snakes proceeded up his sleeves. He tried to remain calm, but when they slithered up his neck and onto his cheeks, he lost control.

"Get 'em off! Get 'em off!" he cried.

Spike reached over and tried to do just that, but they were glued to Colin's skin and couldn't be removed.

Rhea stared, frozen in place, not knowing what to do. "Get them off," was all she whimpered. "Get them off him, Spike!"

"I can't!" cried Spike, and he tried again, but the little snakes kept up their progress slipping over his own fingers every time he tried to block them.

Colin stopped breathing when they entered his nose, slipped down his nasal canal, and dropped into his mouth. He wanted to scream, and when he opened his mouth to do just that, the snakes slithered out and down his arm, back onto the ring. He gasped for air, and a large, audible CLICK sounded and the door to the crypt opened. As soon as he could, Colin pulled his hand free from the handle. He flexed his fingers to see if they were his, and stared balefully at Spike.

"Next time, you open the door!"

Spike laughed nervously, glancing at the little snakes that were back doing their perpetual circuit on the ring.

The door swung inwards revealing a series of steeply descending steps: Down below, a dull green glimmer of light flickered.

"Somebody is down there," whispered Rhea.

"You think so?" answered Colin, whose mouth had gone suddenly dry.

"I suppose we should go down," said Spike who waited for Rhea or Colin to lead the way. "You've got the candle."

"Here, you take it," said Rhea thrusting the candle at Spike who backed away from it.

"We can always come back some other time," said Spike.

"Give it to me," said Colin, sounding braver than he felt. "I'm not coming back, unless one of you two wants the snakes crawling up your nose?"

"No thanks," answered Spike, and Rhea just shuddered. "Thought not," said Colin.

He began the descent into Zuhayer Horwood's crypt, Spike and Rhea following him closely. The illumination for the room came from a greenish orb in the ceiling, seemingly floating without any connection. It cast a sickly, unhealthy pallor over everything. The Crypt wasn't very big; it was unadorned, no elaborate carvings, just enough room for the two black marble sarcophagi and room to walk around them. One was lidded and closed. The other wasn't. Its lid stood upright at the far end of the open box. Hugh Dundas' claim that Zuhayer Horwood's body was missing from the crypt seemed to be correct.

On the black shiny surface of the lidded sarcophagus was a freshly cut red rose. Rhea, drawn hypnotically by the flower, was the first to go forward, until she stood beside it. She read the bronze plaque on the lid: "Charlotte Horwood: 'Until in life again we meet'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Spike in his usual clueless manner.

"I don't know," answered Colin who couldn't take his eyes from the blood-colored rose. Someone had to have put it there, and very recently, because droplets of dew lay on its petals.

They turned and slowly, ever so slowly, edged their way closer to the gaping mouth of Zuhayer's sarcophagus until they could see inside. They hoped, but only half-heartedly, that it wasn't empty, and shivered at the thought. Mostly, they were hoping Hugh was right. They bent forward and peered in.

"Oh, man! What a rush!" blared Spike.

"Spike? What _is_ the matter with you?" Rhea whispered loudly, her heart jumping into her mouth.

Colin had lived around Spike long enough to know exactly what to expect from him, so he only sighed with relief that the box was, indeed, empty. However, the moment of relief was somewhat overshadowed by the realization that if Horwood wasn't here, he had to be somewhere else.

Just then a deep, dark spot on the roughly hewn granite wall of the crypt began to form. Dilating rapidly, the Shadow Nix grew so fast all they could do was stare in horror. It grew beyond human form, flooding the crypt with darkness. The green light flickered as though it was about to go out. Darkness oozed around the walls, encircling them like a rampant poison.

Spike's guardian spirit leapt to life, the snarling coyote materializing in full fighting form, hackles raised, teeth bared. But its form wasn't as solid here in the crypt. There was something about the crypt that gave more power to the Nix. The coyote dashed in at the shadow, only slightly managing to slow its advance. In a few moments there would be no escape; the Nix would have them fully enveloped. Despair began to overtake them. Then a movement from behind jolted their attention away from the Nix. Someone was behind them!

"I hoped I wouldn't have to come down here," said Sergeant Peary in a slow painful drawl. He strode through them to regard the empty coffin, shaking his head sadly. The cigar between his teeth glowed brightly. With his free hand he did up the strap on his helmet; in his other hand, he tossed up and down, an armed grenade. "You kids are definitely pushing your luck." He shook his head, as if to say, 'Why me?' and regarded the Shadow Nix. "This is a big one. Ya know, if I were you, I'd run," he said in a calm, determined voice, and then when they hadn't responded, he yelled, "RUN!"

Finding their legs, they half-ran, half-stumbled up the stairs. Behind them the grenade exploded in the air shattering the dark with an orange-blue flash of light. They fled, Rhea's candle blown out, down the dark passage, through a warren of passages and up the stairs to the main floor. How they negotiated this, unfailingly was a mystery to them.

***

Cold eyes, frigid eyes, that seemed to absorb all the light from the immediate area, turned from their meditation to the three as they struggled to compose themselves, struggled to hide where they had been and what they had been doing. The Nix inside kept her face a frozen mask, hiding her true roiling feelings. She suspected where they had been, had felt the Nix in the crypt moving beneath her, its fury at being dissipated. The voice in her head whispered, telling her to be careful, that things could still go dreadfully wrong. She had to be stealthy, careful; control was the operative word--calm, icy control. Leave the children to stew for a while, let them imagine, yes, let them fear. Purposely ignoring them, she turned her eyes back to her meditation.

It had not been easy, but she had been able to gather together most of her grandfather's _stolen_ possessions. The thieves said they bought them legally at the bank's auction and that they would require payment if they were going to give them up, but when she mentioned who she was and showed them a few tawdry tricks, they were more than willing to be rid of the items. She was sure Blandish was most likely pocketing a large portion of the proceeds, giving only a token to the bank. Well, it was hard to be upset with the man, especially when he delivered the DNA results that proved she was indeed the Horwood heir apparent. This was a time to celebrate! The newly designed foyer was now complete: mounted installations of animal heads glowering down at her in glassy-eyed oblivion formed a gauntlet on either side. They were so life-like, as though they could speak. She let a smile touch her lips, baring her teeth.

"Children. I have good news. Tonight we're going to have a dinner party. Isn't that wonderful?"

***

It could have been wonderful, except for one major detail: Colin, Spike, and Melissa were to act as servants.

"I don't get it, not at all," said Colin in the process of placing another black dinner plate and sterling silver charger atop the red cloth-covered table.

As the light outside the large windows receded, the interior of the room took on a vibrant tone. The two black suits of armor, halberds gripped in metal fists, stood motionless on either side of the open doors. Colin cast a glance around the room at all his aunt's new acquisitions.

"Have you ever wondered how we came to live with G.T?" he asked Spike.

Spike was holding up, in front of his nose, two of the seven pieces of cutlery for each place setting, an agonized expression on his face as though he was trying to work out an impossible problem. He shook his head.

"You know, I think I prefer chopsticks," he said plaintively. Spike glanced at the setting Ofelia had placed as an example, and slowly, painfully replicated the placement.

"Well, think of it. You, Melissa, me, Grizzelda and Grandfather Thunder all living together," Colin continued. "Where are our parents?"

"Lost," Spike shrugged, grimacing, not really wanting to talk about the painful issue.

"All right, lost, but why leave us with _her_? She doesn't even like us," Colin whispered intensely, meaning every syllable. "I don't trust her."

"Maybe she doesn't have a choice in the matter. If G.T. asked you to look after Grizzelda, would you do it?"

"I suppose..." said Colin.

"Maybe it's like that for her," said Spike.

Colin picked up one of the crystal goblets, examined it and found a drop of water on it. He went to wipe it off, but paused, looking closer at his own reflected image in the drop. Holding the glass closer, the light from the dying sun hit it, refracting myriad colors into his eyes. The colors wrapped around him and the next thing he knew, he was falling into the water drop.

The texture of the grass beneath his feet was soft and comforting; the wind, gusting up the cliff from the distant ocean was full of the smell of salt and seaweed. Seagulls swirled in the air above his head, riding the updrafts and mewing their surprise at his sudden appearance. He was standing on a small plateau cut out of a mountain, which continued to ascend into strange, striated clouds that rushed by at an unnatural speed. There was no sun, but everything was illumined by some unseen source. Nothing about the place was normal, but as Colin had been discovering, normal was just a state of mind.

"Hello, Colin, how are you doing?" said a familiar voice behind him.

He turned and there, in his white buckskins, was Grandfather Thunder. His braided white hair hung down over his shoulders like two lengths of silk cord. His ancient, brown face crinkled with a smile. Colin's first reaction was to try to touch him, to see if he was real, but his grandfather held up a hand, stopping him.

"Don't touch me," he said gently. "We are, and are not here. If you touch me, I will disappear."

"Where are we?" asked Colin, noticing the wind bending a little yellow flower couched in a tuft of grass, but he felt no wind.

"We are... _Inbetween_. I came here just before I was about to die, so, here, I am not yet dead. You have some complaints about your aunt?" asked Grandfather Thunder.

"How did you know?" replied Colin.

His smile became broader. "You two are more alike than you know."

"But Grizzelda..." he started plaintively, but was halted by an upraised hand.

"...is trying to do as she was instructed," finished Grandfather. "Listen, I know that your aunt has difficulties with many things, but, at heart, she is a good person. She just needs to realize this. She too has things to overcome."

Colin wanted to ask, 'like what?' but chose to change the focus. He didn't want to spend any more time talking about his aunt. "What's it like being dead, or almost dead?" asked Colin abruptly.

Grandfather Thunder responded with a benign smile. "Well, it wasn't my first choice."

"You prefer to be totally dead?"

"Yes, actually. If you're going to do something, you might as well do it to its logical end. However, the idea was to watch and see what was going on and this is the best place to do that. Here, I can see the past, present, and even part of the potential future, potential, because the future is not yet written."

Colin wanted to ask if he had seen anything, but before he could speak, Grandfather Thunder read his mind.

"I haven't seen anything too bad lately, but that's not too terribly discouraging, considering that if I see anything, it surely won't be good. No news is good news, eh! Oh, by the way, how is your schooling going?"

"Not too good. We almost burned the school down, or Sergeant Peary did, but we got the blame."

"Yes, he certainly threw those budgies into an apoplectic fit, but do not worry, there is more than one way to get an education. There are more schools than you know of. How did you learn to get here?" asked Grandfather.

"I...I don't really know," Colin tried to explain but could not find any words that fit. "I looked into a drop of water, and fell in?"

"Wonderful, see knowledge comes to you! There is something I want you to do. What have you noticed, about Grizzelda?"

"She's getting a little crazy. I think a Nix got her," responded Colin.

"I see. I'm glad to see we have come to the same observations. You need to watch her, Colin, and be careful around her."

"You think Grizzelda is dangerous?"

"Grizzelda, no, but the Nix inside her, very. Just be on guard. Let's just say she is not following her own voice."

"So, what do I do if she gets even more crazy?"

"Call on Sargeant Peary. He'll know how to deal with her. He isn't your guardian for nothing."

"There's times when I think he's a bit crazy too."

Grandfather Thunder grinned. "Don't worry, I don't think it runs in the family. I think choice has a lot more to do with it than genes."

He started to fade.

Colin wanted him to stay, to ask him about Zuhayer, about Sergeant Peary, about the entire Horwood family. Then he realized that it wasn't Grandfather Thunder who was fading, it was he.

Colin wiped the drop of water off the glass.

"What did you say?" asked Spike. "What's the matter with you? Your eyes look weird. Dreaming about Rhea and Colin, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g?"

"What... sorry... nothing, I wasn't listening," explained Colin rather quietly, breaking out of his trance.

"Do you think we're going to get any time to sneak out, or do you think we're going to be stuck in here all night?"

Colin shrugged, "Maybe the guests will be interesting."

Colin's words were prophetic. The guests were interesting, beyond his wildest imagination, much to his discomfort. As the appointed hour approached, the guests began to arrive. First to arrive was none other than Marcus Tiberius Dundas. Colin stared inquiringly at the short, rotund man's formal dress. Complete with kilt and swinging sporran, Marcus, as jovial as ever, marched into the foyer cradling a set of bagpipes. With the bass and tenor drones sticking up over his shoulders, he looked a bit like a round, plaid, puffer fish. Grizzelda flowed over to him, giving him a hug and a kiss on each cheek. She actually seemed glad to see him.

Colin gave Spike a bewildered look.

"I hope my formal attire is appropriate for the occasion? I wear suits every day, and it's not every day that I can wear this, so when the opportunity presents itself..." explained Marcus.

"No, no, you look lovely," said Grizzelda fawningly, brushing a piece of lint from his shoulder.

Spike rolled his eyes, twisted up his face, and pursed his lips, pretending to give Colin a kiss.

Grizzelda stopped them with a withering stare. "Don't you two need to be in the kitchen, helping with the hors d'oeuvres...now!"

Ofelia and Melissa were both in black dresses fronted with white frilly aprons. They looked harried, and from the number of steaming pots and plates full of food, Colin knew why. It must have taken forever to prepare so much food. Melissa stared at them hard, silently accusing them of not helping out enough, which was true. Spike zoned in on the smell of the food.

"Delectable!" he said rubbing his hands together with obvious delight, "When do we eat?"

Ofelia gave them a tired smile, pointed to the trays of hors d'oeuvres set out on the kitchen counter, told them to "Sprint, boys!" then turned her back on them and busied herself at the stove. Melissa's blue eye flashed frostily as she shoved a pile of neatly folded tea towels and assorted kitchen linens into a chest. The dinner was not turning out as she had imagined it. It didn't take her long to realize she was not going to be the princess, but the servant, and she was learning how much work servants actually did.

"We eat after everyone else is done," Ofelia called out to Spike, kindly, but firmly.

Spike, his ear cocked, heard the voice of Principal Devonish, full of fruity-scented flowers and fructose, shatter into shrill tones as she laughed.

"Principal Devonish! Why did she invite _her_ here?"

Colin was so intent on Spike's report that he failed to see Sergeant Peary materialize behind him.

"Maybe she didn't get enough of my table-top dance routine?"

"Sergeant Peary!" exclaimed a startled Colin.

The Sergeant, for a change, looked more like his old self, his cigar smoldering contentedly away, his fatigues traded in for an immaculate black tuxedo. His bow tie seemed to be garroting his thick neck, cutting off the circulation to his brain. The red bloodstain on his white shirt peaked out obscenely from beneath his jacket.

The sharp detonation of a pan hitting the floor jerked their heads around to see Ofelia standing over the spilled vegetables, gawking at the ghost.

"Ofelia," said Colin trying to assuage her shock as quickly as possible, "this is Sergeant Peary. Sergeant Peary, this is Ofelia, our _friend_." He made sure to emphasize the word friend.

The Sergeant wafted over to her, took hold of her limp hand, and kissed it with his ghostly lips. "Enchanté, mademoiselle, so pleased to meet you."

"He's my guardian spirit," said Colin, trying to further take the edge off the moment. "Isn't that right, Sergeant Peary? That's all you're going to do tonight, right? Just protect. No dancing, right?"

Melissa giggled.

"Of course, but you know yourself, these protective inclinations I get aren't something I can turn on and off," said Sergeant Peary flicking his wrist. A stained, yellow document appeared out of the air. There was a red wax seal at the bottom making it look official. "After all, it's part of the contract."

"The contract?" asked Colin.

Sergeant Peary nodded emphatically. "There are a lot of people out there that are as close to being a Nix as you can get. You have to be on guard all the time." His translucent hand flicked the air and the contract disappeared. The same hand then swooped beneath a tray of hors d'oeuvres, lifting it into the air.

"He can't be serious," said Spike.

"Deadly serious," said Sergeant Peary grinning, ashes falling through the plate. Colin saw something bulging under the ghost's tux jacket, something with the distinct outline of a machine gun. "Don't worry, I won't use it unless there are some _machinations_ out there." He paused, looking at them expectantly. "Don't you get it? Machinations – machine gun!"

Nobody got it, and he gave a great suffering sigh.

***

The incipient little bell rang, and then rang again, as Colin and Spike entered the parlor with their trays. Sergeant Peary hung back. For a moment, Colin thought that Peary was going to behave himself. However, the ghost turned invisible and the platter of hors d'oeuvres that Colin was carrying was swiftly tugged out of his grip, and floated in the air. He groaned inside, his stomach turning in knots. The ghost left the kitchen and entered the dinning room. He grabbed another platter and followed along with Spike.

Sitting in full view of the kitchen door was Rhea's mom, Mrs. Li. Colin gulped as his purloined tray of food, hovered in front of Grizzelda. Colin caught up with the floating tray. He stared at his aunt who, much to his surprised wasn't even a little bit disturbed. Unlike her, the other guests were in awe of the floating tray, thinking it must be some magic trick.

"Very resourceful," said Grizzelda under her breath so that only Colin could hear her. "We will _talk_ about this later, young man. I do not approve of having a ghost do your work."

Colin didn't like the sound of the word 'talk,' but he was stunned with the fact that she could actually see Sergeant Peary, but why not, Ofelia could.

Principal Devonish, clothed in a black and red flowered muumuu, glowered warily at the floating platter, but as it came her way she couldn't resist reaching greedily for the food. After popping one of the morsels into her cavernous mouth, a wide smile twisted unnaturally on her face.

"Wonderful, I've never tasted anything like it, and the presentation is divine!" She cleared her throat, trying to sound natural, but failing. "What is it?"

"Oh, a little recipe that I found in one of my Grandfather's journals. It's from Africa. Chocolate- covered locusts. Just the right combination of crunch and chew, don't you think?" said Grizzelda, placing one on the tip of her pointy tongue and chewing with obvious relish.

Devonish's face twitched, but she kept her false smile glued on as she forced a second down. "Yes, divine she repeated," with effort.

Colin rushed back to the kitchen for another platter of hors d'oeuvres, and entered through the side door where Mrs. Li sat. "Sorry," he whispered to her.

"It's all right, dear," she said. "I've had them before."

"You will have to introduce me to your invisible friend," said Mrs. Li, making a point to smile at the hostess and eat a chocolate covered locust. She couldn't see Sergeant Peary, but decided to play along. "These are very good," she said, her eyes widening in surprise. "Who made them?"

"My Chef. You can meet her later, if you like," Grizzelda said with feigned, condescending lightness.

"I would like that, very much, thank you," responded the educational psychologist with a smile.

Colin had no desire to be caught in the veiled hostility that crackled between the two women. He just couldn't figure out why his aunt would invite Mrs. Li.

Ofelia appeared at the parlor entrance announcing that dinner would be served in fifteen minutes.

The order of the table running counter-clockwise, on Grizzelda's right, was Marcus Dundas; Miss Pepperridge, the librarian; Mr. Blandish from the bank; Mrs. Li; Principal Devonish; and (much to Colin's distress) his soccer coach, Mr. Bone; and beside him, a mousy little woman that Colin assumed, by the way she fussed over the big man, was his wife. Every place at the table was filled, except the head of the table, which remained empty. Colin thought this odd because Grizzelda had instructed them to pour water and wine into the goblets and to fill this place setting first as they brought around the different courses. He wondered who Grizzelda was expecting.

Spike and Colin served the first course of creamy, seafood chowder and Ofelia's freshly-baked savoury biscuits, then the salad of mixed baby greens and scallops. Next came thick slices of rare beef and roasted vegetables.

Blandish, over the top of his glass, glowered, his eyes darting furtively from one guest to the next. Then, holding up his glass toward Grizzelda, "I have to admit, you have done marvels with the place."

Grizzelda took a cautious sip of wine. Spike stood beside her, awkwardly holding a bottle of wine, a white towel over his arm. She then drained her glass and held it for him to refill.

"Yes, it took a while to track down all my grandfather's rightful possessions, but with your help it was all possible. I am in your debt, Blandish."

"No, I am in yours," he said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable at having to return to the scene of the crime. He had indeed been the one who had auctioned off a lot of the house's paintings and statues after Horwood's death, accumulating a tidy profit, but now he had accumulated a tidy cost having to retrieve many of them. And somehow this woman had known exactly what had gone missing.

Mr. Bone, working his square face, attempting to sound self-important, waved his empty wineglass at Spike, "Boy! Could I have some more wine?" His thick fingers choked the delicate stem of the goblet, and he seemed about to launch into some fawning commentary when Spike purposely spilled some of the dark red liquid onto his hand. Spike knew all about Colin's soccer coach. "Clumsy kid!"

The mousy woman beside him sprung into action dabbing his hand with her serviette, as though he had received a mortal wound. He shook his hand free of the woman, giving her a threatening look. She sank back down into her chair, hands folded meekly on her lap, but for a moment, before she became entirely neutral, Colin saw a look of extreme unhappiness on her face.

"So, Marcus, I understand the real-estate market has taken a sharp upturn?" asked Blandish casting a dark glance at him.

Marcus didn't seem to notice.He gave a loud laugh, dispelling the gloom that had settled over the table. He reached over and amicably patted Grizzelda's hand.

"Only due to our delightful hostess, only due to her. Up until then, I would definitely describe the market as rather flat, but you know, flat is as flat does," giving another laugh and turning to Grizzelda in anticipation, a little boy unable to restrain himself. "Is it time?"

"Time for what?" barked Bone, resentful that somebody he regarded as 'fat' and 'unhealthy' was garnering more attention than he was.

"Time to, how does one put it, time to wake the dead?" she said serenely, pleased with the silencing effect her words had on everyone at the table, except, of course, for the mouse, Mrs. Bone, and Miss Pepperridge, who had been nothing but silent through the whole of the meal.

"Wake the dead?" blustered Bone, sputtering out some wine over the table.

The wife's serviette leaped to action again.

Marcus stood up, reached for his bagpipes and shouldered it tenderly into position. Placing the blowpipe close to his lips, he eyed everyone ecstatically. "Figuratively speaking of course! It has been said the pipes can disturb the dead, but I've never seen a dead person get up and do the He'land fling!" He laughed. "Now that would be something to see! No, no, don't look so aghast, I'm just going to pipe in the beauty of the highlands, the light of the glens, the delightfully palatable – the haggis!"

Back in the kitchen, Sergeant Peary, after whispering something in Ofelia's ear, and making her smile, had taken the haggis from her.

"What?" said Sergeant Peary, who had transformed his clothes from tuxedo to full Highland dress. "Haven't any of you ever seen a ghost in a kilt before? It shows off a good, sturdy pair of legs, am I not right, lass? You know why Caesar wore those floor length togas? He had legs like a chicken! There's nothing that makes a dictator more tyrannical than chicken legs! Hitler, Napoleon, Stalin, Mussolini, all had chicken legs!"

Spike, Melissa and Ofelia laughed. Colin rolled his eyes, determined not to. The pipes, bass and tenor drones screeching in dissonance, began to fill the entire house. The melody skirled like a thousand harpies at choir. Sergeant Peary's right foot started tapping to the music.

Everyone was waiting for Grizzelda.

"So," said Spike staring at the numerous glasses balancing on his serving tray, "who gets what?"

"I thought Grizzelda was going to serve those? I don't think you were supposed to pick those up," cautioned Colin.

Spike's face went white, and he was about to put the glasses back down, when Grizzelda burst into the kitchen. She glared at him.

"What are you doing?" she hissed lividly. "I told everyone that I would handle those drinks!" She cast Sergeant Peary a vitreous glance and pushed her way out the door.

"She can see you?" asked Colin who already knew she could.

"Why shouldn't she be able to?" said Sergeant Peary nonchalantly, "She's my niece, isn't she? Can't you see the family resemblance? We're both nuts." He turned his ear to the music and started to march on the spot, the pleats in his kilt swinging attractively back and forth. "Not bad, not bad. I do believe the boy can play!" he said. "Forward, march!"

Led by Grizzelda, the haggis, floated into the room, levitating six-feet above the sparkling marble floor, and fully circled the dining table, then continued until it hovered by Grizzelda's chair. As the pipes skirled away, Grizzelda went methodically to each person, placing a small glass of wine before them and Colin followed her, placing a delicate slice of the haggis on their plates. He noticed that his aunt hesitated before placing the glass beside Mrs. Li. _What was she_ _playing at?_ thought Colin. Grizzelda returned to her seat and lifted her own glass in toast. Dundas' face, nearly purple with the effort of piping, his fingers flashing over the chanter, looked relieved and stopped playing. He reached for his own glass, the pipes giving a plaintive last moan as they slumped into the crook of his arm.

"I wish to make an announcement, and a toast," began Grizzelda her eyes shining with glee. "A while ago, I had Mr. Blandish send a sample of my DNA for analysis. Mr. Blandish?"

The thin, ferret-like man rose to his feet, his fingers fumbling to unfold a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. "The evidence has determined the identity of the sample as belonging to the only surviving relative of the deceased Zuhayer B. Horwood." He looked up removing his long nose from the paper and regarded the table. "There is no reason to believe that Grizzelda Star Blanket is not Zuhayer B. Horwood's granddaughter, Millicent Horwood, the rightful heir to the Horwood estate." He remained standing and lifted his goblet in salute.

"This wine," said Grizzelda in an expository tone, "is from Zuhayer's own cellar, and as you will find, is of an excellent vintage." She lifted her glass high, and the sound of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as everyone at the table rose to their feet. "To my grand-father!" she targeted her toast to the head of the table where the empty chair resided, "May he once again reside amongst us." And with this she toasted the empty chair.

She drank, but the rest of her guests were caught in stupefied shock. Out of a desire to protect Grizzelda from embarrassment, Marcus lifted his goblet even higher and in addendum added: "To you, the new Lady of Horwood House."

"To the new Lady of Horwood House!" repeated everyone, and everyone drank.

Marcus drained his goblet. "Ah, that was truly delightful." Then he paused, wavering a bit. "Strange," he said quizzically patting his stomach, "I feel suddenly rather famished!"

To Colin's surprise, and Grizzelda's growing look of consternation, Dundas wolfed down several slices of haggis and several more helpings of the main course. Colin watched as Grizzelda's expression went from one of surprise, to contorted agony, to horror, until that horror, unable to be contained any longer, exploded. She began to scream at everyone, shouting at them, telling them to get out. Everyone confused got up from the table, except Marcus who had eaten himself into a stupor and passed out, his face partially buried in a mound of roasted new potatoes. Then suddenly, the candle chandelier above the table blew out and the rest of the lights in the house flickered and went out, casting them into pitch darkness.

Colin felt a force shoving him from behind. He stumbled trying to remain upright and stumbled again.

"Hey, what's going on?" cried Colin.

"Over to the side," growled Sergeant Peary, "now! There's a Nix in this room like nothing you've ever seen."

The lights came back on, revealing Sergeant Peary standing in front of everyone, invisible to most, his machine gun sweeping the room, looking for a target. Melissa's Raven was hovering over her head, wings flapping protectively while Spike's Coyote prowled back and forth snarling.

Over by the table, on the floor, cradling Marcus' bagpipes was Grizzelda. She was weeping, her tears flowing down her cheeks and onto the tartan plaid of the bag cover. The food at the head of the table was gone, and so too was Marcus Tiberius Dundas.

Chapter Eight: Waking Dreams

In the middle of his sleep, Colin floated into that peculiar place where he had met Grandfather Thunder, the place that needed no sun. He found him sitting on the grass, holding a flower up to his nose, and staring into a drop of water on one of the petals. The old man shook his head in disappointment, placed the flower back into the earth, and greeted Colin with a warm smile.

"There's something I need you to do," said Grandfather as they strolled over to the lip of the cliff and looked down at the vast expanse of water before them.

"What?" asked Colin trying to ignore the pull of the tiny beach far below.

Grandfather Thunder scanned the sky one last time for any black dots; when he was satisfied, he took a large step off the cliff and into the abyss. He didn't fall, but began to sink gently as though he was going down in an invisible elevator. Half way down the cliff he shouted back, "Let's go, Colin, we don't have much time!"

Taking a large breath and trusting completely, he stepped out into space. His descent was controlled: by willing it he could speed up or slow down. (Spike would go bananas when he heard about this!) Air rushed by his body until he caught up with Grandfather Thunder, who continued to fall, comfortably cross-legged, to the earth.

Everything below and around him was changing. Instead of the vast body of water, there was now a wide-open expanse of grassland, golden and heat-baked, that stretched from one horizon to the other. The strange preternatural feel of this place wasn't just due to the absence of a sun, but they also seemed to be the only people there. They continued to fall, and now it seemed that their target was one of a small grouping of trees dotting the landscape.

"Slow down," cautioned Grandfather Thunder. They were getting closer to the skeletal fingers of a particularly massive, leafless tree. It looked as though it had been planted upside down, its gnarled roots substituting for branches. He pointed toward the interior of the tree where there was a mass of dark, convoluted matter. It was a nest. "Our destination," he said.

They landed and Colin was immediately struck by the enormity of the nest. It was like being in a very large boat. The only thing that provided him with some scale was the magnificent, blue, spotted egg in the center of the nest. It looked more like a space capsule than an egg, and he eyed it warily. Yet, even with the enormity of the nest, and the likely size of its owner, Colin didn't feel a sense of danger or threat, but one of strange comfort. He wondered about that and why Grandfather Thunder had brought him here. He reached out and gently touched the egg.

"You are right to treat this egg with care. A Phoenix can be particularly possessive of its egg, considering it lays only one every thousand years," said Grandfather Thunder in a distracted manner. He was down on his hands and knees, crawling about, looking for something.

"Do you need any help?" offered Colin backing away from the egg cautiously.

"No, I'm sure it's here. Just watch for Nixes, but don't worry, even if they appear, they wouldn't dare come too close to a Phoenix nest."

"Why are we here?" asked Colin.

"You need to give Rhea her guardian spirit. Each case is different. For Spike and Melissa, it was easy; their cultural background was my background. I knew exactly what to choose, but Rhea, now that's a different matter... not impossible, just more difficult. Ah!" said Grandfather Thunder triumphantly, straightening up, still on his knees, holding a black shiny stone attached to a golden chain. "I knew she would have prepared it. You see Phoenix's are very considerate, logical creatures. They know what's needed before it's actually required."

"You sure we're safe?" said Colin trying to get a closer look at the pendant. "What is it?"

Within the dark stone, a pearl of light shone.

"We're perfectly safe ... unless we damage the egg." Grandfather Thunder casually tossed him the necklace. "It's a Phoenix tear. Very rare, yes indeed, very rare. It will allow Rhea's guardian to manifest itself. Remember Colin, you have a very special friend in Rhea."

Then suddenly, Grandfather Thunder disappeared. There was no fading, just an abrupt blinking out.

"I wouldn't hang about too long," said his voice from out of the ether. "The Nixes are bound to find you, sooner or later."

Colin glanced around checking the skies, but when he went to move, he couldn't. And he had no idea how to make himself move. This wasn't his only worry. He had absolutely no idea how to get out of this _Inbetween_ realm. A terrible fear gripped him, and the air around him grew thick and dark. The skin on the nape of his neck prickled with warning. He looked up. The sky had filled with dots, black dots that were quickly descending on him. In mere moments, Shadow Nixes ringed the outside of the nest. They were large and palpable, seething with the dark absence they carried, a fevered, hungry need. He had never seen so many at once, nor felt them to be so strong. Reaching down and tugging a big stick free from the nest, he waved it about his head in a pathetic attempt to defend himself. He looked down at the stick and dropped it from nerveless fingers. Somehow it had been turned into a human shinbone, with the foot still attached. A mocking chorus of laughter filled his ears, but that laughter, even though strong, was soon shredded asunder by a loud piercing screech. The darkness about him fled, the Nixes dispersing as quickly as they had come. The tree shuddered, buffeted by a hot wind that was coming from every direction at once. The shaking was so severe that it knocked him flat on his back. He stared up at the swirling air above him--orange-red flames of fire. In the midst of that fire, two huge, intense, blue eyes flashed. The intensity of the eyes was hotter and more concentrated than the flames that threatened to engulf him. He pinched himself, and felt pain. He shut his eyes and pulled himself into a fetal position, the only escape panic allowed.

He felt the comforting, soft fur of the buffalo skin he had ensconced himself in upon going to bed. But instead of feeling secure, he felt as if he were suffocating, as though it was impossible to get enough air into his lungs. The memory of the heat from the flames...and the after images of those piercing, blue eyes made him break out in a cold sweat. He threw off the blanket and sat up gulping in huge drafts of air. After a minute or so, he fell back, shivering, and pulled the buffalo robe around him.

The dream, if that's what it was, had been so real, so tangible; it was impossible to distinguish between it and reality. He had even felt the pain of the pinch he'd given himself. Part of him was grateful to be out of the nest and away from the Nixes and the Phoenix, but another part of him wanted to stay longer, to let those piercing, bright blue eyes search through his entire being, and bring to light who he really was.

Something dug into his side. Pulling the object free, he rolled onto his back and held it up in front of him. Swinging on its golden chain, with the inner glow of some distant star, was the Phoenix tear Grandfather Thunder had given him.

***

The Farmer's Market happened twice a week, and each time, in eager anticipation, Ofelia was there before it opened. She explained to them, that during her circus days she had learned to get up before the sun, and by now it was a well-worn habit she had no intention of giving up. Their eyes were still blurry with sleep and their breath hovered in front of their faces as they made their way outside. The days were getting shorter and colder. The leaves on the trees were turning from their usual gentle verdant colors to the autumnal glory of yellows and reds. They watched as the little tributary moved sluggishly out to join the greater river. Even though the chill of the early morning dampened their clothes, it did not dampen the relief they felt at being out of Horwood House and away from their aunt.

Grizzelda had become even bitterer, turning inward, curling up protectively, shunning everyone and everything. At first, her silence was a blessing, but then it began to weigh heavyly on them, heavier than any shrewish behavior she could have inflicted. She shuffled about the house, the only thing to announce her presence, a sense of deep, dark despair that surrounded her and led the way through her misery, a great black cloud that kept everyone at a distance, buffering her from all outside influence.

When Marcus first disappeared, the police had come asking questions, and, although baffled, seemed satisfied with the dull, muffled answers that she had given them. She had then taken to her room, bolting the door, ignoring all inquiries, even from Ofelia. Now and then, they would stumble on her standing in front of one of the many paintings that now populated the house, tears running down her cheeks, silently pleading. The oppressive mood steeped the entire house in misery, and Colin was beginning to think that he preferred being scolded. Even her clothes were devoid of the usual stars that ornately decorated them.

At night it was even worse. Locked in her room she would wail and plead, as though she was trying to convince someone about something. From her increasingly disheveled look, she wasn't having much success. Spike, even with his amazing hearing, couldn't make out what was being said. It was as though a different language was being used. Another oddity was that he could hear the muffled, deep voice of another person.

Colin, Spike and Melissa waited for Ofelia, seated on the slope of the railway bed. Rhea, they noticed was with her Grandma at her stall. The vendors in the farmer's market were just starting to open for business.

Melissa reached for her note pad, scribbled something, and handed it to Spike.

A surprising thing had begun to happen to Melissa. It seemed the more time she spent with Ofelia, the more open she was becoming. She was less passive, more likely to initiate communication, and she was much happier. Ofelia's mothering was making Melissa blossom.

"Yeah, I'm sure," answered Spike plaintively. "What do you think she did, have Marcus stuffed and placed in her room?"

Irritated with him, Melissa blew air out of her nose and scribbled furiously on the notepad. In a huff, she got to her feet, ripped off the page and thrust it at her brother, then stalked away to find Ofelia.

Spike appraised this note: "Maybe, but what I do know is that people just don't vanish without leaving some idea of where they've gone."

"She's right you know," said Colin moving a piece of slag about with a stick, "Marcus didn't just vanish without a trace."

"Not you too!" groaned Spike, then his face contorted in obvious agony. "Well, what about my parents? Huh? They disappeared without a trace!" He rose to his feet and took off in the other direction toward the marina, running, then walking, then running again, hurling stones he'd filled his pocket with from the railway bed.

Colin breathed out heavily, trying to release the feelings of exasperation and frustration that were clawing at him -- that were clawing at them all. Grizzelda was going to drive all of them crazy if the situation didn't change soon. He fumbled in his coat pocket checking for the phoenix tear pendant, hoping Rhea had gotten the message he had sent with Ophelia. He watched as a seagull perched on the top of a lamppost waited for a morsel of food to drop to the ground among the tables in the market. As soon as it happened the seagull took to the air, and within a minute a flock of mewing birds was winging ever-narrowing circles around the market. Colin shivered thinking about the Nixes he'd encountered _Inbetween_.

"This better be good!" said Rhea, with a glint of humor in her eye, as she strode up the path from the farmer's market towards him. Her orange-red hair caught the light of the morning making it glow.

He stood up and dusted off his pants. "Oh, it is."

"Good," smiled Rhea. You better come with me, I need to help Grandma at the market. Come on," she said turning to lead the way back to the market. "Even though she doesn't need the money, she loves to come here. She says it keeps her in touch with the way things were back home."

Colin wondered where 'back home' was and felt a pang of longing in his chest, and wondered what a real home felt like. Pansy Patch was all he'd ever known as a home, but there had always been the feeling, without knowing his parents, that things were not complete. He caught up to Rhea and they walked down between the vehicles parked around the periphery, and made their way to the tables set up in a rectangular circuit.

This being autumn, an abundance of richly-colored vegetables were on display: the reds of the peppers, tomatoes, and beets; the oranges of the carrots and pumpkins; the yellows of the squashes and the different corn varieties, along with the expected plethora of greens of cabbages, cucumbers, zucchinis, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and lettuce. But it was the tantalizing baked goods that made Colin's mouth water, the rumbling of his stomach reminding him that he hadn't yet had breakfast.

They strolled by one table where a woman, wearing a long black dress and a white lace bonnet (she had a black coat pulled over her shoulders like a shawl) sat passively, her hands folded in her lap. He was immediately reminded of Mrs. Bone. Another woman in identical clothes was unloading more of their produce from a black van that provided the backdrop for their table. He caught her eyes widening as she momentarily regarded him. She was surprised by the brilliant colors of Colin's coat, just as surprised as he was by the lack of color in her clothing. Maybe 'surprised' wasn't exactly the word that expressed what he was feeling; maybe 'interested' was the better word. He was always interested in things and people that were different. And speaking of different...

Rhea's Grandma sat behind her table, which was piled high with several varieties of cabbage, lettuce, and radish he had never seen. The radishes looked particularly funny, being club sized. Rhea went behind the table and leaned over giving the ancient round-faced woman, who had been napping, a kiss on the cheek. A smile spread across the old woman's face and her eyes flashed open.

"You thought I was sleeping, eh? Thought you could slip away, but I know where you go! Who we have here?" Her eyes fell on Colin and he felt as if they were boring into his brain. The intense scrutiny made him feel as if he were being lifted up by the scruff of the neck and hung on a great, invisible scale that weighed his worth. It was disconcertingly familiar, as when the Phoenix had examined him.

"Grandma, this is Colin...I'm sorry, Colin, but I don't know your last name."

Colin tried to remove his eyes from the gaze of Rhea's Grandma, but couldn't. Struggle as he might, he could not move. "I don't have one," he offered weakly.

The old woman's eyes widened. "You don't have one!" she exclaimed standing up. "What type of boy are you? Not having last name. Everyone has last name! Where is your family?" She was an extremely small woman. Even standing up, she only came up to Colin's shoulder. A little walking stick flickered over the table and tapped him on the pocket. "All right boy-without-last-name, what you have for my granddaughter?"

He sensed no ill will in the little woman's aggressiveness, and felt that she was just simply treating him the same way she treated everybody else. But how did she know about the necklace?

A customer had just come by and was now waiting to the side, examining some of the vegetables. Colin shivered noticing that the man had an unnatural pallor to his skin, as though he hadn't seen the sunlight for a very long time. The man poked a finger into a bunch of cilantro, testing it for freshness.

"What you do?" demanded Rhea's Grandma. "You see it fresh. You no need to poke, poke, poke! You either buy or go away!"

Rhea gave a hand-veiled laugh as the surprised man scrambled away. "Grandma doesn't sell a lot, unless she likes you, then she forces you to buy almost everything."

"What you talking about? That nonsense. I sell to those who going to benefit. Now, enough chit-chat, what does boy-with-no-name got in his pocket?"

Colin noticed that Rhea was about to protest, but he just shrugged.

"It's all right. I never knew my family, so I don't know what my last name is. I was told by Grandfather..."

"What you mean," said Rhea's Grandma, poking with her stick again, "you have no last name, but you have Grandfather? He has your name? What his name?"

Rhea gave Colin a sympathetic look. "You better tell her. She won't stop until she has a name."

"Of course I not stop until I have name, disrespectful granddaughter! You should not talk as if I not here." She tottered about on the spot, completing a full circle. "See, I am here," and then her eyes bored into Colin's skull again, "but where were you, young man?"

Colin's mouth went dry, his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. She knew! She knew he had been _Inbetween_! "Thunder," Colin said, "grandfather's name is Thunder."

Instead of bewilderment, Rhea's Grandma clapped her hands together, obviously pleased. "Thunder, yes, Thunder, is good, strong name. You are Colin Thunder, the dove who will roar." The cane jabbed out again like the tongue of a snake. "Now, what you have in your pocket? What you have to give to my granddaughter? It better be good!"

Because Rhea's Grandma would demand it, Colin knew that he had to tell the entire story. When he was done, the old woman nodded sagely, as though none of it surprised her. Rhea was gaping openmouthed. And when he finally pulled the pendant out of his pocket there was a mutual gasp of delight between Rhea and her Grandma. The walking stick slid between his hand and the necklace, and before he could stop it, it slid down the stick and into the old woman's hand. She held it up, letting the morning light penetrate the black surface and illuminate the shimmering tear within. She cast Colin a look of respect, gave him a grave nod, and handed Rhea the necklace.

With unsuppressed delight she placed it around her neck, her radiant smile and bright red hair adding to the already luminous light from the Phoenix tear. Colin was tempted to squint. It was a joy to see someone happy about something. He thought of Grizzelda, and felt sad for her. True, she wasn't a nice person at the best of times, but if Grandfather Thunder believed in her, maybe he should too.

"What is glum look, chum?" asked Rhea's Grandma rather tenderly. This coming from the abrasive woman caught him by surprise.

"My aunt is feeling rather...down lately..." he began, but was grateful to be stopped by the old woman, who placed a withered up root into his hands. "Take this, grind it up, and use a little to make tea. I guarantee she be much happier. Now, you two should take nice, long walk."

"Grandma!" cried Rhea with embarrassment.

"What? You not think an old woman can handle a few measly vegetables, or crazy mister poke poke? I can handle. Besides, with that hanging from your neck," she motioned to the necklace, "you not need company of protective, old Grandma. You now have very powerful guardian spirit," she said, puffing up her chest. "Now, off you go. It was nice to meet you, Colin Thunder."

When they were far enough away from the market, Colin leaned in and asked: "How did your Grandma know about guardian spirits?"

"I don't know. She comes from the old country. Maybe they know about them there."

"Maybe," said Colin, but he doubted it. "Spike went down this way. Let's try to find him."

On the other side of the railway, a parking lot fronted a small marina. Rocks had been piled up to form a breakwater that kept the marina waters calmed and protected against the prevailing wind. At the end of the break wall there was a white cylindrical light beacon, its top painted green. Far across the river, almost indiscernible by the eye was its red-tipped mate. A few masts on the sailboats punctuated the air with odd sounds as the wind whistled through them, their sail cables sounding like discordant wind chimes as they rubbed against the metal masts.

Spike was at the far end of the rocks, next to the light, his head held close to the water, his brow furrowed. He seemed to be listening to something. The waves washed onto the rocks, crest after crest. A few gulls were playing in the buffeting wind. Rhea and Colin crouched down beside Spike.

"You hear something?" asked Colin.

He shook his head disappointedly. "No, nothing. I was hoping I could find that clapping sound we heard when we were cleaning the washrooms. Sorry about that back there, it's just..."

"Don't mention it, Grizzleda's driving us all a bit loony," commented Colin.

Spike gave Rhea a small smile. "Hi, Rhea, how's it going?"

"Good. Washrooms?"

"It's a bit of a long story. We believe there might be Water Nixes, or something down here. We've never seen any, but we think we heard them once. Let's go Spike. We should be getting back. Ofelia and Melissa should be through by now."

"Have you tried over there?" She pointed to the confluence of the two rivers.

It was a bit more sheltered from the wind there. A half-sunken log poked out of the water; a turtle perched on the tip sunning itself. The wind soughed through a big willow that draped itself over the side of the riverbank, branches reaching down to the water like a curtain. They found seats on some big rounded boulders and listened for the Water Nixes.

"I come here sometimes, when I have things to think about. They say this place used to be the nesting grounds of thousands of swallows, then, one summer they just stopped coming," explained Rhea. She nodded over at the brown condominiums on the other side of the river. "I think the birds left because the town built that and destroyed their habitat. I call it Swallows' End."

Where the sand and water merged, a curious rock caught their eyes. In the center there was a hollow depression--like that of a comfortable seat--and on either side of it were two rock armrests. It looked as though it had just been sat in. It was wet, and dark. "Would you look at that," said Spike stepping into the mud so that it squished up over his boots. He touched the rock with his fingers. "I wonder if a Water Nix was sitting here and then when we came we scared it away?" His face was bright with animated hope.

Just then, two ducks, eyeing them warily, glided out from behind the rushes along the shore. They sped towards the relative safety of the center of the small river.

"Maybe, they were the ones on the rock," suggested Rhea.

Spike wasn't amused. He tried to extract his feet from the mud, but found that they were stuck fast. By twisting his body about, he hoped to create some wiggle room, but it was no use, he was stuck fast.

"Come on, Spike," called Colin, "quit fooling around."

"I'm not doing this on purpose," he said twisting about. "I'm really stuck!" He held out his hand, urgency entering into his movements. "How about giving me a hand?"

"Wait," said Rhea handing Colin a broken branch. "Try grabbing this."

Spike held one end, while Colin and Rhea positioned themselves on the other end of the branch. It was no use. No matter how hard they pulled, they couldn't budge him. With one last momentous effort, Spike pulled too hard, and both Rhea and Colin, fell into the mud on top of him.

The three of them burst into laughter, but then Spike's face turned white with fright and he gave an abrupt yelp. "Something is in the mud. I felt it slide over my leg!"

Colin shivered, remembering the sensation of having the snakes wiggle up his nose. He, Spike and Rhea had just pulled themselves up and were struggling, trying to free their feet from the mud, when a voice froze their movements. The exquisite musicality of the voice was like sunshine dancing on water, playful and yet pointedly pressing, intensely focused.

"If you don't stop squirming, the Mud Sucker will get you, and then I'll have three times as much work to do, so if you don't mind...?"

They stopped moving about to see where the voice was coming from. A young woman was standing on the riverbank looking down at them. The morning light glowed like a golden nimbus around her entire body. Her clothing consisted of a white blouse and a series of layered, colorful, sheer skirts. Her feet didn't touch the ground. She was ethereal, made of some part of the very air itself, but she was wet, soaked through. Still, this did not seem to dampen her jovial smile. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she brushed the wet blond strands of her hair out of her face. She was very beautiful in a tragic sort of way, but the source of that tragedy remained hidden.

They watched as she approached them, walking over the mud, her feet leaving no impression. Standing by Spike, she smiled sweetly at him and laughed, her voice tinkling into the air. Two little swallows playfully darted about Spike and the wet River Lady.

"Don't worry. Mud Suckers this time of the year are more interested in hibernating than looking for food."

"Food?" asked Spike staring down at the mud worriedly. "Don't wiggle so much," she said, bending over and placing her mouth close to the surface of the muddy water. Then, she began to sing. It was a wordless song, full of form and shape and color. Immediately it reminded them of some of Melissa's music, but this song used vibrations that were closer to nature, like the sound of the whispering wind, the calming effect of running water. Spike realized that whatever was holding him had eased its grip. The song extended its soporific effect down into the mud and mesmerized the Mud Suckers.

"You make me want to sleep," yawned Spike never feeling so sleepy.

"That's the general idea," said the young woman smiling beatifically, her eyes flashing.

Colin was transfixed by the young woman. He didn't understand why, but it was there, as palpable as the cold water against his skin. Somehow, someway, this woman was vitally important to him. She turned to him and smiled; he seemed to melt, his body flowing into the very water that dripped from her.

"Hey! You're the Water Nix!" shouted Spike excitedly.

The young woman made a sour face. "A Water Nix? I don't think there is such a thing. No, I am because I am."

The last phrase was delivered while looking directly at Colin, as though it was meant for him and him alone. Reaching out to them, she had them wrap their hands around her slender, but strong, arms, and she gave a firm pull, popping them out of the mud and, effortlessly, depositing them safely onto firmer ground around the mud, then they followed her ethereal form back up the riverbank.

"You were kidding when you said that thing about food, weren't you?" asked Rhea tentatively. "I never heard of a Mud Sucker. What is it?"

In answer to Rhea's first question, the woman shook her head and said, "No, I wasn't kidding."

Rhea gulped.

"You wouldn't have heard of the Mud Sucker because it's a type of Shadow Nix," explained the woman blithely. "It only exists Inbetween."

"That's where we were?" asked Colin. "Are we still there?"

"No, not really. Only the moment when you stepped into the water to find me, that's when you went Inbetween. Now we're back, and the water is quite safe now, no Mud Suckers."

"Thank you," said Colin, trying to sort out the strange, conflicting emotions he felt about the woman. She was, both, familiar and yet strange. "Do I know you?"

She smiled and Colin forgot about Rhea and Spike.

"Perhaps."

Before they could say anything further, she swirled away further along the riverbank. Each blink of the eye put her further and further out of reach. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to lose her.

"Wait!" called Colin. "What do you mean, perhaps? Who are you? What's your name?"

"My name?" she said, her voice a song tinkling in the air. "Listen to rushing water, the deep, dark water, and you shall know my name, but you may call me Silverberry."

"Why are you going away?"

"Because I must," was all the disembodied voice in the air said.

"Can we see you again?" said Colin a frantic note entering into his voice. He needed to see her again, even though he did not understand why.

"Yes," she laughed, her voice tinkling into the air, and then, like a flicker of sunlight that catches a wave on the crest, it was gone.

Spike looked over at Colin. "Don't worry, we found her once; we can find her again."

"I didn't think ghosts could actually touch you," said Rhea shivering. "She looked so real."

"I don't know if she is a ghost," whispered Colin. "Sergeant Peary is a ghost, but she seems almost real, as if she's alive."

"This is weird," said Rhea quietly. "This should bother me, but it doesn't. I mean, just a few days ago, I knew nothing about Shadow Nixes, ghosts, and spirit guardians. None of these things existed for me."

"Seems normal to me," shrugged Spike, wondering why Rhea was making such a big deal about it.

"No way, this isn't normal! People don't live in invisible tents; they don't see Shadow Nixes, or have guardian spirits," she hesitated, confused by her own words. "I mean, that's what I thought, before I met you. Now there's this," she said motioning to her neck where the Phoenix tear hung. "What I'm saying is that all this should bother me, but it doesn't, and I want to know why."

"I'd like to know why too," said Colin still staring at the last place he had seen Silverberry, wondering why his heart was still racing. He felt as though he was in a dream, and yet he knew he was entirely awake and solidly connected to reality.

Chapter Nine: Slumber & Soccer

As was usual in the morning, Colin, Spike, and Melissa did their chores. Today's task brought the three of them together in the kitchen.

With a cloth torn from an old flannelette sheet, Colin smoothed paste over the surface of a large silver tray. The tray was but one piece from a mountain of silver on the kitchen table waiting to be polished. Spike sat next to him and toiled away with a small foam paintbrush, working liquid silver cleaner into a border of tiny grape bunches that rimmed a chafing dish. Melissa finished buffing the last of twenty-four wassail cups and placed it alongside the other gleaming cups and the large, footed wassail bowl. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she elbowed Spike who rolled his eyes up at her and said, "Yeah, yeah, you're a whiz kid, Sis." This was one of the very few utterances made that morning; they were content to work in relative silence while Ofelia listened to her favorite morning radio show and made their favorite, oatmeal cookies. Colin's thoughts were occupied, uppermost, with worries about his aunt's health.

She was an emotional mess. Waves of silent agony emanated from her every waking moment. She would hover around them, distribute a blanket of intense unhappiness, then leave and wander aimlessly through the house before returning to them to repeat the depressing cycle.

Colin had decided he must change his attitude about Grizzelda; he wanted to honor Grandfather Thunder's request of him to take care of her. It wasn't as hard as he'd imagined it to be, especially with her in the pitiful state she was in. He was surprised that he felt calmer and more at ease around her only because he had shifted his thinking about her.

Rhea had dropped by the house the day before to remind him that indoor soccer was starting up. Registration was taking place tonight and he had to be there in order to get assigned to a team. It hadn't exactly been dominating his mind, but it would give him a chance to spend time with Rhea and it would allow him the opportunity to get away from the house for a few hours. A part of him couldn't wait to make his escape; however, after his experience in the summer, he'd convinced himself not to go, until Rhea coaxed him to change his mind. He couldn't be as bad at the indoor game as he was at the outdoor game, or so he hoped.

He had never seen so much silverware in his life: candle sticks, flatware, serving sets, tea and coffee services, charger plates, punch bowls and cups, champagne and ice buckets, even medals and engraved plaques--so much silver that he thought his aunt must have gathered in all the silver from kilometers around. He even tried his new abilities to the task of removing tarnish from the silver, but immediately discovered the process added more tarnish. It was back to good old polish and elbow grease to get the job done.

"Have another one, old man," Spike said, as he offered Colin the plate of Ofelia's warm oatmeal cookies as a consolation.

Aunt Grizzelda was relentless in her restlessness, a mass of nerves bordering on hysteria. Presently she was staring aimlessly out the tall window that fronted the kitchen, eyes red and swollen, face stained with tears. She gave a great sobbing sigh, turned and padded past them. On her way out of the kitchen she asked, "Ofelia, could you get me a glass of pomegranate juice? I'll be back in a few moments for it." Her request was almost kind in tone.

"Yes, Miss Grizzelda, right away."

Colin was quick to his feet, heading Ofelia off at the refrigerator. She looked at him curiously but he stalled her with a smile. He had already prepared the root, using a mortar and pestle to grind it into a fine powder. At this point he was willing to try anything to get his irascible aunt back; anything was better than this.

"What do you have there?" asked Ofelia, suspiciously looking down at his closed hand.

He knew it was impossible to hide anything from Ofelia; she had this way of seeing right through conspiracy and plot. Colin opened his hand revealing the powder in a corked glass vial. Truth was the best defense here.

"Rhea's Grandma gave me a root to grind up and give to Aunt Grizzelda. She said it would help her."

Ofelia didn't say anything but continued to watch judiciously. Colin reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of the red juice and poured it into a tall glass. He mixed in some of the powder, stirring it until it dissolved.

"What?" said Colin guiltily to Ofelia who glared disapprovingly at him.

"Now, when you say it's going to help her, what exactly do you mean by that?" She picked up the glass and examined the liquid.

"It's all right, I'm sure it won't hurt her," said Colin not having any idea whether it would, or wouldn't hurt her, or whether it had any side effects.

"I see," said Ofelia dubiously. "You don't exactly know what it does, but you're willing to experiment on your aunt?"

"It's not like that. You've seen her lately. Ever since the party and Marcus' disappearance she's been a basket case! She's not sleeping any more. Every night, you can hear her crying and talking to herself. (He didn't tell Ofelia that someone else was talking back to her.) I think she's going crazy, honestly."

He waited for the verdict, Ofelia's sanction or veto, but neither was needed because Grizzelda strode back into the room, took the glass from Ofelia's hand and drained it in one summate gulp. She handed it back to Ofelia, and looked, strangely enough, on the verge of saying 'thank you', but instead closed her eyes, gave a long grateful sigh, and collapsed onto the floor.

After a quick but thorough examination, Ofelia announced, in a relieved voice, that Grizzelda was only asleep.

"Your aunt is in a deep, deep slumber, young man. I will have the rest of the powder, now!"

Colin dug into his pocket for it and handed over the remainder of the root. He had never seen Ofelia upset and he didn't like the sensation at all. Having Ofelia's smile, her bubbling effervescence, denied him was like having the sun turned off.

She turned the root around with her fingers, carefully examining it from all sides, sniffed it, then wet her finger, dabbed it on the dried root, and touched her finger to her tongue. With her chin angled to the ceiling, her face changed from one of contemplation to that of wonder. A big flashing smile illuminated her face.

"Where did you get this? Do you know what this is?" she said, rushing on not waiting for him to reply. "It's the root of the plant Narcissiflorus Somnifera. Do you know what it does? If you consume it, it evokes a euphoric coma that allows you to see yourself only in a positive light." She continued to stare at the root. "Amazing," she said. "And you say Rhea's Grandma gave this to you?"

"Yes," answered Colin cautiously, "when we were at the market. She was the woman with the giant radishes."

"Oh, yes, she has the best vegetables in town. Do you know what's so marvelous about this root?"

"No."

"It only grows beneath the Phoenix Tree, the tree where a Phoenix has her nest."

"Wow! That's totally awesome!" injected Spike. "But isn't the Phoenix just a myth? There is no such place where the Phoenix tree grows."

"You are absolutely right, because, you see, no such place exists, or, at least, not in this world."

***

Ofelia and the boys carried Grizzelda up to her room. She lay sound asleep on her canopy bed, a blissful expression on her face, arms folded over her chest, eyes closed in peaceful repose. Colin took the opportunity to look around his aunt's room. He hoped to find something that would explain her late-night, sobbing conversations.

The only thing that caught his attention was the large full-length oval mirror, pivoted between two vertical supports. The legs were carved in the shape of two big snake heads that lay flat on the floor, their eyes--four green crystals--glimmering at him. Although the eyes were cold and lifeless, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him from within them. The mirror had the usual silver, reflective quality, yet this one was markedly different. There was a deep, dark tinge to it, suggesting a great depth. He felt something shift restlessly in its depth and immediately wanted out of the room. He also noticed something peculiar on the bed stand: a little rotund doll, complete with kilt and sporran. The only thing lacking was bagpipes. Ofelia too, stopped to regard the doll. It looked surprisingly like Marcus.

"Can you make it sing," asked Colin abruptly, "something soft, like a lullaby?"

"Can, I make it sing?" said Ofelia considering the question. "I suppose I can give it a try, but why would you want me to do that?"

"Maybe Grizzelda would like it. Don't you think it looks a lot like Marcus?"

"Colin, it's just a doll, but if you wish."

Ofelia focused on the little doll, but after a brief moment broke off her concentration and staggered away. Colin put out an arm to steady her. Ofelia's eyes were wide with shock.

"What's the matter?" asked Colin.

"Nothing, nothing," said Ofelia a little too quickly to assuage Colin's fears about the doll. "For some reason, I can't make the doll sing. We need to leave this room, now! Don't worry your aunt will be all right."

Ofelia ushered him quickly out of the room, but all Colin could think of was the mirror and the doll, the doll that looked too much like Marcus Aurelius Dundas. He also had the feeling that Ofelia knew the real reason why they retreated from the room so quickly.

"You go on, now," said Ofelia shutting the door behind her. "I have some things to do."

Halfway down the stairs he was struck by the coincidences that surrounded Ofelia, how she fit right in with the rest of the family with her extrasensory abilities, and how she ended up applying for the job where those abilities wouldn't be considered different. How many people out there were extraordinary? Either there were a lot, or Ofelia coming to work at Horwood House was no coincidence at all. And she knew, but wasn't saying, why the doll couldn't sing. He felt it. And how did she know about the root? For that matter, how did Rhea's Grandma know about it? How did she get it? The only way both of them could have known was if they had been Inbetween. They knew a lot more than they were willing to share. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. The idea of not being able to trust Ofelia sent shivers through him.

***

"So, why not just ask her," said Spike with a mouthful of food. "I mean if she's up to something, you'll be able to tell, or maybe you can ask Sergeant Peary."

The boys were eating their evening meal together. Ofelia and Melissa had both excused themselves from eating supper, as they were not feeling well.

"I don't know," Colin said cautiously. He rather liked Ofelia and didn't feel like putting her in the position of having to tell a lie. "Maybe Sergeant Peary would be a good idea." He glanced at the big grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth. The minute hand had touched the top of the hour and the big chimes began to sound. The door just below the clock face slowly opened. A black night on a black turtle rode out, flourished its sword around his head six times and then rode back.

"I'm going to be late!" exclaimed Colin. "Are you sure you don't want to come? I mean you can't be much worse than me!"

Spike made a sour face. "Nah, I was planning on doing something else," he said rather evasively. "How long do you think she'll be asleep?"

"I don't know, but Ofelia thinks I gave her too much of the powder."

Spike hesitated, "I think I'll go for a walk, maybe watch some birds or something."

Spike quickly looked away from Colin and turned all his attention to his slice of pumpkin pie and began to devour it. Colin was now sure Spike was up to something. He was no bird watcher.

***

The indoor soccer facility had once been an old factory, but was now renovated so that it held two indoor fields. It rose up out of the ground, massive and squat, a dark brick building that promised no delights within. In the renovations they had left the outside virtually untouched. Windows of an industrial age gaped down questioningly at him, demanding to know why he was there, and if he had anything to contribute to an unbending work ethic of yesteryear.

He bounded up the steps leading to the front doors, hoping he wasn't too late. He should have taken Rhea up on her offer to walk over together.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing here?" said a derisive voice.

Colin looked up to see Edge, fleshy arms crossed over his chest, standing in front of the big glass doors. Edge's mean, narrow-set eyes glowered at him, his face twisted in distaste. There were two other boys with him that Colin didn't recognize. They looked just as unfriendly. Colin had no idea why Edge disliked him so much. He tried to get by them, but Edge stiff-armed him, bad breath puffing into his face. The licorice twist he was chewing on migrated across his black- tinged lips.

"I hope you're not thinking about trying out for the indoor league," said Edge in his best sneering voice.

"So what if he is?" said Rhea who had just pushed open the doors, to stand defiantly next to Colin.

"If he is--well," said Edge becoming quickly confused. He hadn't expected Rhea. "I suppose it's all right, as long as he's on your team." His brain began to catch up with his meanness. "It'll be a pleasure to beat you. See you suckers later. Rainbow and Rusty sitting in a tree..." he sang as the three boys left and burst into laughter and loud guffaws.

"Don't worry about them," said Rhea, "they're just afraid."

"Afraid of what?" asked Colin. "He's right; I'm not a very good player."

"Well, even so, that doesn't mean you can't become a good player. They're afraid because you're different. They pick on anyone who's different. Mom says it's a defense mechanism. Hey, do you know if the police are still looking for Marcus?"

Her sudden shift of topic caught him a little off guard and he stuttered, "No--I--didn't..."

They talked as they went through the doors and into the main body of the building. Rhea told him that her mom had been interviewed by the police and that they seemed to think that Marcus had purposely disappeared... likely something to do with tax evasion.

The interior was divided into two big open spaces. The pitch was covered with a green carpet of artificial turf, and in the center there was a large platform upon which none other than Mr. Bone stood. He was saying something, waving about his thick fingers, face turning purple-red with effort, trying to make some point. Committee members sat behind him looking cowed, like bobble-headed puppets nodding and grinning with wide, false smiles every time Bone made a point. In front was a crowd of people.

"What's he doing here?" said Colin, any hope of actually playing now crushed out of existence.

"He's coaching again, but he also leads the Indoor Soccer committee. There are times when he can be useful," explained Rhea apologetically as they edged up to the back of the crowd listening to Bone. "He thinks because he played professionally, everybody should listen to his ideas."

"He played professionally?"

"He wasn't a starter, although from the way he tells it, he thinks he was the star. Personally, I think he was the water boy. I put your name in the lottery already. They draw the names to see what team you get placed on."

This brought a bit of a smile to Colin's face as he watched the pompous man run on, his cheeks working like billows, huffing and puffing out air over the heads of the audience. When he finally stopped, there was a collective, but polite, sigh of relief from the audience. When the committee was through dictating how things were going to run, everybody broke into small groups, chewing on donuts and sipping a terrible tasting sports drink concoction from the league's new sponsor. The committee was busy over by a big dry-erase board scribbling down names as they were drawn out of a box. For a moment, as Colin chewed on his honey-glazed donut and sipped on his drink, he felt almost as though he belonged. Then Edge and his cronies found him. He gave an inner groan. If Edge didn't like him, why did he always make a point of finding him? Colin was beginning to get irritated, which didn't happen very often.

"Hey, Rainbow, you'll have to buy a shirt to play in this league. Think you can afford it?" snickered Edge. "Maybe somebody will knit you one!"

Before he could say anything Rhea had shot back, "He can play on whatever team he's drawn on, and he can wear whatever colors he wants to!"

"Yeah!" he said grudgingly, "but he'll have to find a team first." There was something in the way he said 'find' that made it seem like it was going to be impossible to do.

He was grateful when Edge and his lackeys lost interest in him and drifted away.

"It's all right, you know," said Colin, "he doesn't bother me too much."

"Well, he bothers me!" spat out Rhea acerbically. "You're not the only one he bugs. He thinks I dye my hair red so that I can look "normal". If I get put on the same team as him -- I..." She didn't finish the threat, but instead pushed up anxiously to the white board where a committee member was posting the last names for the teams.

There were twelve teams of five players each. Above each team was a number and a blank space for the eventual name of the team. Edge was standing beside his father, a smirk on his arrogant face. A committee member, a tall, slim man with sandy hair, averted his eyes from Rhea's gaze, as though he was ashamed of something. Colin, now standing beside Rhea, felt her irritation beginning to crest.

"Hey, where's my name?" she demanded, when they seemed finished, "and Colin's?"

"Sorry, your two names were the last drawn," explained Bone. "Just not enough kids to make up a thirteenth team. Better luck next time?"

From the delighted expression on Bone's face Colin knew he wasn't sorry at all. Colin was ready to turn around and leave when Rhea grabbed his arm.

"What if we can get three more players?" she asked determinedly.

Bone pursed his lips in an attempt to look thoughtful. "Well, that would be allowable, but you'll have to register tonight, no exceptions."

Edge was giving them a great cheesy, victorious grin.

"Colin, if you can get another person, I can get my cousins, Tan and Chloe to play," she whispered intensely, her eyes gleaming.

"I could volunteer Spike. I hope your cousins are better than me."

"Would you quit going on about that! And no, they're not better than you are. Tan spends all his time playing a stupid trading card game, and Chloe is into meditation and food, but I don't care. It's five, and that's all we need. Mr. Bone," said Rhea waving her arm about wildly.

Bone, trying hard to ignore her, pretended to be engrossed in a discussion about donut sizes, but Rhea stepped in between him and the person he was talking to.

"Excuse me!" he said testily.

"We have the five players we need for a team."

Bone looked momentarily vexed and then a heated flush ran over his meaty head.

"Yes, but you also need a coach and, from the look on your face, you don't have one. Better luck next time!"

"Not so fast, sonny boy!" sounded a lively, but weathered voice from behind them.

Colin turned to see Rhea's little Grandma pushing people out of her way like a tiny tugboat in a logjam. A few people yelped with surprise because her elbows made contact with their ribs. She halted in front of Bone. The top of her head didn't even come up to his elbow, yet she demanded, and got his attention.

"If my granddaughter need soccer coach, I be her coach!"

"You know how to coach?" asked Bone skeptically.

"Sure, back home, in north, we play similar game, but we no use balls, we use nice round heads of enemies!"

Bone swallowed hard.

"Well, chop-chop, write name of my players on board, big man!"

After Rhea had given the five names, and received a schedule of games, her Grandma put her arms around both Colin and Rhea and guided them away.

"Grandma, I didn't know that you were interested in soccer?"

"I not, but I not about to let great big bully to stop you from playing. Now," she said smiling innocently, "please explain, how you play soccer?"

***

Their first game was in one week against Edge's team, The Terminators, and Colin expected to lose. Even so, he was buoyant about being part of a team. He hoped Spike would feel the same way sometime in the not too distant future.

In order to avoid road traffic on the way home, he took one of the back routes that led to Horwood House. A stiff breeze blew down the street. Leaves fell from the trees, exposing more of the branches. In the dark, they looked like skeletal fingers, groping, trying to capture the air. A black squirrel, long, bushy tail, flouncing behind it, stopped to stare at him, then skittered frantically away. Grizzelda must still be asleep; she had to be. Rhea's Grandma asked him if he'd prepared the root for Grizzelda yet, and when he explained how much of the powder he used in the juice, she let out a small gasp.

Even before he approached the front gate of Horwood House, he felt the change. The ominous, dominating, stone wall around Horwood House rose up before him, but there was something else, something behind the wall, waiting. The breeze blew harder, making him shiver. He had the feeling that whatever was beyond the wall had made the house inaccessible, as though it was locked to him, guarded.

Down the street, just outside a pool of lamplight, he saw Spike standing, staring at the part of the wall that had partially crumbled.

"Spike!" called Colin, but he didn't answer. Whatever he was looking at held him in thrall. Colin jogged over to him and stared in through the gap.

"What's the matter?" asked Colin startling Spike.

"What are you doing sneaking up on me?" he said startled. "I can't get in!"

"What do you mean, you can't get in?"

"Just that, I thought it would be safe to go in here, but something came at me. It was really strange, since I can see things so much better, you know, since we moved here. But I can't see anything in there... but somethings there, and, man, is it vicious!" said Spike. He showed him his jacket sleeve, ripped at the shoulder. "It almost took my arm off! Maybe we can get in together. I mean, we gotta get in there. We gotta make sure Melissa's alright!"

Colin took a deep breath, knowing that if he thought about it, he wouldn't be half so brave. He clambered up onto the broken part of the wall. With his feet dangling down on the other side, he sensed the presence of something. Taking shortcuts had inevitably brought him into conflict with territorial dogs. It was a feeling he didn't like very much, them barking and slobbering, white fangs gnashing, nipping at his legs, but this was something other than a dog.

"Spike, whatever you do, don't run!" he hissed.

"What is it?"

"Don't know."

He knew from experience that running when you were scared made things worse, much worse. The boys both dropped down on the other side of the wall. Colin could feel the thing watching them, assessing the optimal moment to strike at them.

"Run!" Yelped Spike letting his fear overcome him. He dashed across the grass toward the house.

Colin felt the lurking presence move, lurching into a hungry loping. He scanned the yard but still couldn't see anything. The stomach-tightening tension worked its way up into his throat. The thing was heading straight to intercept Spike. There was no way he was going to make the house.

"No!" yelled Colin. "Don't run! Stay there and don't move!"

There were others now, like a pack closing in on their prey, circling, and even though he couldn't see them, he knew their ferocious teeth were bared, knew their eyes were glaring with pure feral instinct, whatever they were. Colin became dreadfully unsure as he moved up to stand beside Spike. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stand still. Spike's face was drained of color. The air shimmered in front of them, warm air rising into cold, creating a thick mist.

"So," said Spike tightly, "what do we do now?"

"I'll call Sergeant Peary," answered Colin hesitantly.

"Good idea, my guardian isn't responding."

No matter how hard Colin called, there was no response. It was as though there was a barrier between him and the Sergeant, and that barrier was beginning to close in on them. They had no idea what to do, except to wait for the inevitable, whatever that was.

At the apex of their greatest despair, just before the wavering, snarling creatures fell on them, a high piercing whistle punctuated the sky. Both Colin and Spike looked to where the whistle had come from, and saw, sailing through the air a huge, raw steak. It landed on the ground several meters away from them. The steaming breath of several of the things turned away from the boys and, with stunning ferocity tore at the steak, ripping large chunks out of it. In moments it would be gone.

Colin and Spike, not needing any encouragement, ran for the front door, and found it wide open to accept them. Panting, they secured the door. In the foyer, beneath the mounted head of a big stag, they found Sergeant Peary sitting comfortably in a big chair and reading the paper. As his cigar smoldered away, he looked up over the edge of the paper and eyed them auspiciously.

"Where were you?" asked Colin accusingly.

"Sorry about that, but I couldn't get through. Neither could any guardian. You're lucky I thought to throw the steak out there," said Sergeant Peary, his eyes returning to his paper. "Will you look at this..." He flipped the paper around to show a picture of a man shaking his fist. "Hugh Dundas believes his son's been abducted, crazy old goat."

"What was that out there?" asked Colin trying to regain his composure, his heart returning to a more normal rhythm.

"Oh, that," Sergeant Peary said dismissively. "Just the Old Man's guard things. I say things because they're really hard to describe and are equally ugly. It's good you can't see them. Someone, in their infinite wisdom, has let them out. Don't look at me! I wouldn't do a stupid thing like that. You've heard of Cerebus, the hound that guards the entrance to the underworld? Well, think of something much worse." He shivered. Sergeant Peary saw the fear in their faces and was somewhat satisfied. "Two things you have to remember with these things: they love raw meat and they only come out at night. During the day, you can come and go as you please, but don't get caught again, all right?"

"Thanks. Do you think Aunt Grizzelda let them out?" asked Colin.

"She couldn't have. She's still sleeping like a baby. You know, when she doesn't have that scowl on her face, she's not a bad looking woman."

"Then who?" asserted Colin feeling the importance of knowing.

"Ofelia and Melissa are the only other people in the house," continued Spike.

"Don't forget the Old Man. After all, if he's not in his crypt, where is he?" finished Peary indiscreetly, returning to his paper.

"Well, wouldn't you know if he was dead or not?" asked Colin.

"Right, I'm supposed to be omniscient now that I'm dead?" said the gruff voice from behind the newsprint. "Think again. The union sets pretty stiff guidelines on what I can and can't do. I guess the fear is that the living would have us running around doing everything for them."

Colin stared at him in silence.

The paper folded revealing the Sergeant's face.

"What? Listen, life is full of challenges, and since it's your life, you have to deal with them. Me, my job is to keep you alive long enough for you to deal with them. Now, if you don't mind I'm going to finish reading my paper."

Sergeant Peary disappeared.

Chapter Ten: The Wind

Colin, Spike, and Melissa were outside raking leaves. They had been told to play. And they were playing, even though six oversized garden bags bulged with their rakings. None of them could remember a time when they didn't help with the chores, but they were well acquainted with play, what Grizzelda called "off time" and Grandfather Thunder called "making the Creator smile". They knew how to have fun and they had been laughing and goofing around, doing what comes naturally to every kid around huge piles of leaves, but the filled garden bags gave them a feeling of satisfaction as well.

They had started outside the kitchen and worked around to the front of the house. As they came within view of the unfinished marble statue, they froze in place. The statue had changed. Someone had been at work on it, carving. The block of marble had been chiseled away revealing two long black armored legs. How this had been done with the invisible guard things on the grounds at night, they had no idea.

The cool October breeze swirled some of the leaves out of the pile by their feet, buffeting their clothes and hair. In the absence of any clues, all they could do was gape at the statue.

Sunlight, a small flash, reflected from a window on the second floor of the house. It was Grizzelda looking down at them from their bedroom window, one of her earrings catching the sun's rays. She smiled and waved. Her lengthy sleep due to the large dose of the powdered root had been exactly what she'd needed; when she awoke she was a different person. Grizzelda's joy seemed boundless. Yet, it was so over the top, so foreign to them, they felt extremely uncomfortable in her presence and tried to avoid her. They should have known it was fruitless to try. She was everywhere! She careened about the house throwing out compliments and cheeriness with ravenous abandon. Grizzelda unlatched the window and it swung open.

"Wonderful day! Isn't it, children?" she called down cheerily. "You're doing such a wonderful job! It's time for you to stop. Dinner is ready." She almost sang out the last words, waving at them to come in, then shut the window and disappeared from view.

Colin noted Spike and Melissa's accusing eyes aimed squarely at him.

"What? You'd prefer her moping around all day making everyone feel miserable? I'm sorry, all right?"

Spike had still not forgiven Colin for signing him up to play indoor soccer, and now with this new "improved" aunt and the invisible guard things...

Grizzelda, instead of seeking to be alone, now actively sought their company. No matter where they were, she would appear. She'd go on for days about the smallest point of kindness; once she spouted an ode to the kindness of a layer of grime that Colin had been trying to remove, saying something about its 'divine purpose.' Colin was still trying to puzzle that one out. As if that wasn't enough, when they tried to talk to her, all she would do was nod her head and say 'ah', as though she was listening, but Colin knew nothing was connecting behind those glassy eyes. Grizzelda had moved from the Dark Side to the Feather-light Side. Colin's helpful imagination conjured a pie chart of his aunt's shaky emotional makeup, complete with an alarm bell clanging away.

Another fun aspect about life at Horwood House was the guard things at night. The boys had now obtained Grizzelda's blessing to continue with indoor soccer, so they didn't have to sneak out any longer. However, the guard things were becoming hungrier, making trips out of the house at night almost impossible. On their most recent outing, they had required several steaks to get out and back in safely.

Ofelia opened the front door and stepped out onto the portico to say something. There was a mute pleading in her eyes, but she didn't have a chance to speak the words on her mind. Grizzelda's arms tenderly wrapped around her from behind and gently tugged her back inside.

"We better get in there before she comes out for us too," said Spike warily. "So, who do you think did it?"

"The statue? I don't know, but we have to find out," responded Colin.

"It feels a bit creepy – just what I like," said Spike, hesitating before grinning. "I bet Sergeant Peary knows."

Colin thought about it. "He probably does, but I don't think he can tell us anything, even if he wanted to."

A weird, festive atmosphere permeated the dining room; even the flowers, centered on the table, smelled happy. It was odd, considering that no one, except Grizzelda, was giving off much in the way of happy vibrations. In fact, it was clear from Ofelia's expression that she was deeply concerned about Grizzelda's manic behavior.

"Sorry," whispered Colin to Ofelia, feeling guilty.

"I don't think it's all due to the root," she answered back quietly, patting Colin's back. "It's almost as if she is willing herself to be this happy."

Colin immediately thought about the Shadow Nix that had slipped inside their aunt and he wondered if this was a way, assisted by the Narcissiflorus Somnifera, of fighting it.

Grizzelda waltzed in from the kitchen, a big, covered platter balanced on her shoulder and the fingertips of her right hand. Her eyes were glittering, reflecting the fountain of stars coursing on her black dress.

At the head of the table, sitting on several large books, so it could reach the table, was the Marcus doll. It had a smile on its plastic lips. Its baldpate glittered in the candlelight. They had no idea what a doll was doing at the table.

With a deft flourish of hand, Grizzelda removed the silver top of the platter, revealing several burnt cheese sandwiches. One by one she placed the blackened sandwiches onto their plates, saving the last sandwich for the plate in front of the Marcus doll. It was bizarre, but it appeared she expected the doll to eat. Grizzelda, full of guileless satisfaction, pulled her own chair up to the table and placed her serviette properly on her lap. She reached for her glass of juice and lifted it high.

"Before we begin, I'd like to make a toast. To good friends and good food."

Colin, and everyone else, hesitantly lifted their glasses, sniffed the liquid and took a cautious sip. Good friends and food are essential, but this was just -- weird. After the uncomfortable toast, they set about carving their way through the charred cheese sandwiches on their plates. Even Spike, who had been known to like everything put on his plate, was finding this dinner difficult. Every bite he took had to be washed down with several swallows of liquid. Colin had lost his appetite, although he did wonder if the charcoal on the sandwich would taste the same as the charcoal of burnt wood, not that he had any intention of consuming charcoal from either to settle the question.

Colin's eyes had been so fixed on his own plate that when he looked up he was shocked to see that the plate in front of the Marcus doll had been picked clean. He reassured himself that Grizzelda had to have eaten it herself. The doll remained inanimate, but to his surprise, its expression had changed. It not only had a satiated smirk on its face, but also a few crumbs.

"As you all know, Halloween is almost upon us," said Grizzelda as she stood up, her eyes shining as she rubbed her hands together with glee. She had eaten her sandwich ravenously.

"I would like to invite you all to a party!"

This caught them by such surprise that Spike, who often sat on the corner of his chair, slipped off it and fell with a crash to the floor.

Out of one of her deep pockets she pulled a handful of letters and quickly danced about the table distributing them. Then without further comment, she swept up the doll, coddled it in the crook of her arm and, giggling, swirled out of the room. The little white lights on her black dress were now forming lively dancing lines.

Colin noticed that both Ofelia and Melissa looked extremely relieved as they revealed what was hiding under their suspiciously lumpy napkins on their laps.

"That's not fair!" complained Spike, "I ate the whole thing!"

Colin opened his invitation and read it:

You are cordially invited  
To the  
All Hallows Eve  
Celebration,  
At Bevise, Bunk & Tellings Funeral Home,  
On October 31.  
Festivities to begin at 10 p.m.  
Costume Dress.  
R.S.V.P. no later than October 26.

"We're really being invited to a party?" asked Spike as he looked up from the engraved, white card, amazement written on his face.

"I guess so," answered Colin, with just as much astonishment.

***

The change in Grizzelda's personality was absolute in all matters -- except that of school, and in this, she was unmovable. Otherwise, all she did was flit about giving out vacuous compliments. The change in her demeanor extended into her conversations with that other voice within her room at night. It was as though she had become a new woman. Even her disagreements with Rhea's mom (which still continued) were smoothed over with pleasantries. There was something oddly comforting in the fact that Grizzelda could still be disagreeable, but in a very nice way.

"Well, Mrs. Li, I still don't think it's a good idea that the children go to school. You see, they're... different," she said with quiet determination, her portly Marcus doll still snuggled into the crook of her arm (she never went anywhere without it.)

On one particular visit to the house with her mom, Rhea leaned up against the stone wall in the wine cellar where she, Colin, and Spike had taken refuge from Grizzelda and Mrs. Li. Colin and Rhea pressed their ears to the open end of the empty wine bottle each held against the wall. Spike didn't need such artificial aids, and neither did they. At first they hadn't believed Sergeant Peary, who hung upside down by his feet, which were glued firmly to the ceiling, but in fact they didn't need them to hear the conversation going on between the two women. "Somehow," explained Sergeant Peary, "sound is absorbed by the house and channeled down here. You can hear anything, as long as you're focused on it. I used to come and hide down here when the Old Man was throwing a fit."

Rhea set the empty bottle on the floor and listened to the conversation that filtered down from the parlor.

"Weird, but you know, she says you can't go to school, but she's saying it nicely," said Rhea about Grizzelda. "Don't look so disappointed. Having to see Principal Devonish each day is no picnic. Look on the bright side; we've got our first game this weekend!"

Colin remained silent; he was, and wasn't, looking forward to the game.

"I second that!" said Sergeant Peary, the ashes from his cigar falling onto Spike's head.

"Hey!" Spike said, instinctively waving his hands in the air even though he didn't feel the ashes.

"Sorry, about that, mate. So, does everyone have their Halloween costume picked out? You know, ghouls with pasty faces, rotten teeth, and lips dripping with blood?" asked Sergeant Peary's, his face contorting to the ghastly details of his description.

"No," said Colin, not really interested in the party at all.

Rhea looked aghast. "The party is tonight, and you don't have anything to wear? I wish I were invited. This is pretty exclusive stuff. Anybody who has ever gone has had a lot of fun. Your aunt must know the directors at Bevis, Bunk and Tellings, or how else could she have gotten the invitations?"

"Bevis, Munk and Smelling?" asked Spike messing up the name on purpose.

"No, Bunk and Tellings," instructed Rhea. "The mortuary. They do this every year. It's really creepy, but fun, from what I hear."

Spike was taking more of an interest in the party, so Colin decided to reinforce what they had already agreed on.

"It's such a shame we won't be going," said Colin shrugging, his mock disappointment coming through clearly. Both he and Spike had decided that spending all night with their aunt wasn't going to be much fun, so they had put no effort into finding a costume, or even thinking about it.

"Why don't you try the Old Man's wardrobe?" said Sergeant Perry who immediately received a disapproving glower from Colin. "Sorry, just trying to be helpful. You know there was this one time when I saw the Old Man prancing about in black leotards and cape. Had he known I'd seen him, he would've whipped me. As it was, I couldn't stop laughing for a week."

"Where is this wardrobe?" asked Rhea.

"In the part of the house that was never finished," said Sergeant Peary.

"There's nothing there," protested Spike.

"That's because you haven't been looking."

"That's what Silverberry said, but I'd like to know what that exactly means?" Colin asked.

"It means what it means. Why don't you go and have a look," reaffirmed Sergeant Perry.

"You're not coming?" asked Colin.

Sergeant Peary shook his head. "I'd rather go up to the library and ask Ofelia to get that statue of mom to sing again, maybe something from Puccini. Don't worry! When you get to the sealed off wall, just push through it. It has a lock, but don't worry about it."

"What kind of lock?" asked Colin, rubbing his nose, remembering the snakes. Whenever Peary said not to worry about something, then it was time to worry.

"It's just a Riddle Lock, harmless -- if you get it right," said Peary casually.

"What if we don't get it right?"

"Now that's a good question. When I was growing up and I didn't get something right, the Old Man would beat me. Not in front of mom, but when she wasn't looking, so I don't expect that getting the riddle wrong will be very pleasant."

"He beat you?" said Rhea aghast.

Sergeant Peary looked suddenly uncomfortable, as though he'd said more than he had wanted to.

Changing the subject abruptly, he said, "I'll show you, if you promise to stop asking questions about my life. Come on, I don't want to waste my death talking to you lot in a wine cellar. Puccini will have to wait," he finished with a sigh.

They followed the ghost through a series of winding subterranean passages they hadn't known existed. Eventually the earth beneath their feet started to rise. They had come to the end of the house, or what they had perceived as the end of the house. Colin knew they had arrived by the particular 'feel' of the place: a sense of vast possibilities. To the eye it looked just like a hastily bricked-in wall where the hardened mortar oozed out sloppily between the bricks. On the other side was the half-finished tower.

"What are we supposed to see, because I don't 'see' anything," complained Spike.

"Patience, patience my little precocious pup," growled Sergeant Peary. I had an art teacher years ago, who said 'seeing' was a relative term that applied to all the senses."

"What?" asked a bewildered Spike.

"I think he wants us to touch the wall," said Rhea.

Colin, remembering the snakes slithering in his nose wasn't going to be the first to touch it.

Rhea, intending to place the palm of her hand against the rough wall, found the bricks soft, allowing her hand to pass through to the other side.

"It's like jelly."

She continued to push until the wall had consumed half her body. Then her progress stopped and her eyes widened. The bricks around her had suddenly hardened. She couldn't move. She was stuck.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked a bit startled, her free arm and leg waving in the air.

"It's the Riddle Lock," explained Sergeant Peary, "I thought I told you that."

Spike and Colin were trying to tug Rhea back by pulling on her arm and leg.

"Hey, watch it, I'm not a wish-bone you know!"

"Sorry," said Colin turning on the ghost. "Why didn't you tell us this was going to happen?"

Sergeant Peary rolled his eyes. "Probably because I didn't know it was going to happen. A Riddle Lock responds differently for each person that tries to use it, each time."

"So, what if I can't open it?" asked Rhea.

"You'll probably be stuck there," answered Sergeant Peary. The ghost stepped up to the wall and disappeared through it to the other side.

"Where are you going? Aren't you going to help us?" called Colin after him.

"Sorry," came the ghost's voice through the other side of the wall, "union rules."

No sooner had Rhea asked: "How are we supposed to solve a riddle when we don't even know what's being asked?" Then a note, a small white piece of paper, fell out of the air to rest gently in her palm. She stared angrily at the note and then at both Colin and Spike. "Well, aren't you going to help? It's hard to unfold a piece of paper with one hand!"

Colin apologized, took the paper, unfolded it and read it: "What is half of a whole, part foul, part fair, and read only on the top?"

"A circle that's been divided in half," said Spike excitedly.

"What about the foul and fair part? Could that mean weather, and what do people read only on the top?" asked Colin.

"Labels on the tops of cans!" jumped in Spike.

"I don't think so," countered Rhea, "labels are on the sides of cans."

Spike looked a bit embarrassed, "Right, of course."

The muffled voice of Sergeant Peary came again through the wall. "You're thinking is too literal, and besides, you two shouldn't be doing the thinking. The riddle applies to Rhea, and Rhea only."

A big grin spread over Rhea's face. "I know what it is! I know the answer. Me," she said with satisfaction.

Suddenly, the wall dilated to form a doorway, dumping her unceremoniously to the floor where she landed with a thump. Beyond the door, they could see Sergeant Peary standing at the bottom of a winding staircase. He was sucking on the stub of his cigar and applauding.

"Very good. You're a quick one, you are!"

"I still don't get it," said Spike following Colin through the door.

"Me," said Rhea, "half of a whole. I was stuck in the wall, half of me was. It should've read 'part fowl, part fair,' that's my guardian spirit, the phoenix, and 'read on top' should've been.

"RED on top of the head," said Colin, his eyes widening.

"Fun, wasn't it?" said Sergeant Peary. "Of course, you wouldn't have thought so after a few days stuck in the wall; but making people squirm was always the Old Man's specialty. Now, if you don't mind, let's go find some costumes!"

From the outside this was the unfinished section of the house, but on the inside it was complete, and looked as though the stone blocks had been set just yesterday. They stared up the steps spiraling up into a distant point that seemed to go on forever.

"How tall is this tower?" asked Colin.

"No, idea. I've never been to the top," said Sergeant Peary who was floating over the first steps. Up the center of the stairs was a large red carpet runner.

"This is impossible," said Rhea feeling a kink growing in her neck from staring up. "It has to have a top."

"The one thing I've learned from death," said the ghost, giving a painful grin, "is that nothing is impossible." He tapped the side of his head with the wet end of his stubby cigar. "It's all up here, what we choose to accept or not."

He floated away, forcing them to follow him up the stairs. They noticed how Sergeant Peary was avoiding the banister and staying close to the wall of the tower.

After awhile, their legs began to hurt from the effort. Colin put on a burst of energy to catch up to the ghost; he wanted to ask him how long they were going to keep climbing. In the effort, he didn't see the edge of the carpet runner quiver and come to life. It turned up making a large enough bump to trip him. He toppled, out of control, arms flailing toward the black banister at the edge of the stairs. Suddenly Sergeant Peary was in front of him, blocking his way. As Colin fell, he passed through Sergeant Peary, but felt himself slow down. It gave him enough time to reach out and grab the banister before he flipped over it. His arms jerked taut and bolts of pain went through his fingers as he struggled to hold on. Out of fear he looked over his shoulder and saw the hard floor far below him. Then Rhea and Spike were leaning over him, pulling him up. After a few tense moments he was able to get his elbows onto the railing and swing his legs back over the banister. Back on the stairs he was able to regain his composure and stop shaking. He stared at the seemingly harmless dark red carpet. Sergeant Peary was looking a little embarrassed.

"The carpet tripped me!"

"The carpet?" asked Spike.

In the momentary silence that followed, they turned to Sergeant Peary who was avoiding any eye contact.

"Sorry," he said, "I forgot. The carpet runner, although not entirely alive, is aware of us."

"But why did it try to kill me?"

"You know the Old Man," said Sergeant Peary bitterly, "always joking around." He stomped hard down on the carpet and a slight moan echoed emptily up the stairs.

"So, when do we get there?" asked Colin, not anxious to continue walking on the runner.

"We're here," said Peary, motioning to a nondescript section of the wall. It wasn't any different to the rest of the wall, but the closer they looked, the more they were able to see that one of the stone blocks was faintly engraved with a strange rune.

"Just press it," said the ghost. "Don't worry, there's no lock. The Old Man figured if someone could make it this far, they deserved a peek."

Colin pressed the rune and with grating noises several of the stone blocks turned sideways creating a narrow passage for them to enter. He stepped cautiously through the cavity and into the dark room beyond.

There was nothing special about the room except that there was a skylight in the ceiling and there was a big mirror standing in the middle of the room. The mirror was an exact duplicate of the mirror in Grizzelda's room, except that this one had glass in both the front and in the back.

"You're father had a thing for mirrors didn't he?" asked Colin, watching his reversed image as he approached the mirror.
"He called them looking glasses. He also said they were mirrors to the soul," said Peary cryptically. They could tell from the twitch at the corner of his eye that he wanted to, but couldn't, say more.

"The Union?" asked Colin.

Sergeant Peary nodded.

"So, where are the costumes?" asked Rhea feeling chilled. There was something about the room she didn't like, but it was difficult to understand specifically what it was.

"The mirror, the costumes are in the mirror. It's not a normal mirror, none of the ones that look like this are. You walk up to the mirror, step into it, and then, when you step out the other side, you're dressed in your costume."

Both Spike and Colin hesitated. Rhea stepped bravely up to the mirror to look at her image. It couldn't be much worse than being stuck in the wall. The closer she got, the more her image changed, wavering like a flame, her clothes changing color, from the beige pants and blue sweater she was wearing to a long flowing gown made of red and yellow burning feathers. Her head was adorned with a flaming headdress that also covered her eyes and nose with a blazing beaked mask. She moved her arms and thousands of flames, like little feather tongues danced.

"Wow," she said, "I've never seen a costume like that before. "What is it? How does it work?"

Colin knew instinctively what it was, and where it came from. It came from the same place he and Grandfather Thunder had gotten the necklace. Perhaps that's where the mirrors led, and then he hesitated -- perhaps there were Shadow Nixes inside the mirror also.

"It's a Phoenix costume," said Colin.

"So, I just step through to the other side, and I'm dressed like this? How does it work? How could my clothes change into that?" asked Rhea.

"Mine is not to question why, but to do and die," said Sergeant Peary.

"I have no intention of dying," snapped Rhea. "Is this dangerous?"

"No, no, I was just trying to recite some sage words. No, it's harmless," said Sergeant Peary, a little too quickly.

"I know how," said Colin who had slipped into one of his trances while watching Rhea. He had seen, close up, what would happen with her clothes, the clothes of the mirror image. He could find no other words for it except that somehow they were, "remade."

Before he could say they should forget the entire thing, because anything associated with Zuhayer Horwood could not be trusted, Rhea had stepped through the mirror, emerging immediately on the other side dressed as a human firebird.

"Wow," echoed Spike reaching out to hold his hand close to her flaming costume, "you're actually hot!"

"How do you feel?" Colin leaned forward to examine her.

"Fine, I feel the same as I was feeling before I stepped through the mirror. The only change is I look like this!" She twirled about letting the orange-red flames dance. The train of her dress flicked into the air like fire leaping out of a bonfire.

"I don't know if I trust this. There's got to be a catch somewhere. You can't tell me that Zuhayer Horwood just liked to dress up for the sake of dressing up," said Colin.

"You're right," said Sergeant Peary, one corner of his eye twitching. "There's a catch here. I may be putting myself at risk with the Union here, but I'm going to tell you anyway. The costume has something to do with the guardian spirit you have. There's something else, but I definitely can't tell you that, but it's not dangerous, more potentially embarrassing than anything."

Spike had already stepped through the mirror, emerging dress like a coyote. His entire body was covered in fur that fit him like a second skin. His ears were elongated, and the end of his black snout twitched, but as he held his hands up, he noticed, with some relief, that he still had fingers and not paws. An expression of sly curiosity passed over his face and slipped into his eyes that glimmered mischievously; he reached around behind to touch his tail.

"I've got a tail! Cool!"

Swallowing hard, Colin stepped up to the mirror. He didn't see himself dressed in fatigues like Sergeant Peary wore. He couldn't see the costume his clothes were going to turn into. He stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection wearing his multi-colored shirt and jeans.

"Why can't I see what my costume is going to be?" he questioned. "I mean, shouldn't I look like you?"

"Good question, but I'm not your full-time guardian. I'm only on part-time assignment." The ghost was staring inquiringly at the mirror. When he got closer to the mirror the image of Colin began to fleck apart, as though it was being lost in a snowstorm of black and white particles. "I think somehow I'm interfering with the reception. Guess you just have to go through to find out."

Taking a deep breath and stepping through the mirror, Colin couldn't help but wonder what the Sergeant meant by embarrassment. On the other side of the mirror, Colin looked down at his body and--nothing. He was still the same. He had expected a change, but nothing had happened; he was still the same. He couldn't help but be a little disappointed.

"What happened?"

"Well," said Sergeant Peary slowly, "I don't know. How do you feel?"

"I don't know," was all he said, but he did feel different. There was a part of him, a part deep inside that seethed and roiled with the stirrings of a wind. Although it was a gentle wind, it held within it the promise of great tempestuous power. "I do feel a bit different. I feel like--this may sound silly--but I feel like--the wind."

"That's why your costume can't be seen," said Sergeant Peary. "Your guardian must be the wind, and nobody can see the wind."

Colin turned to the mirror, and he found himself staring into the eye of a hurricane, a feeling of peace filled his being while everything around him was blurred with destruction.

Chapter Eleven: Costumes

They felt a little odd--the Phoenix, the Coyote, and Colin--as they followed Sergeant Peary away from the secret tower room. "Odd is all right, some of the best things are odd," explained Peary. To Colin, the immense space behind him filled with potential storm made him feel like he was being followed by something way beyond his control, and it wasn't just a bit odd, it was unnerving.

They stepped into the foyer where everyone was waiting for them. With a critical eye, Grizzelda examined their costumes from head to toe. Spike felt as though she might be sizing him up to join the heads of the once hunted animals, which lined the walls of the entranceway. Then she smiled and he allowed himself to breathe again.

Grizzelda, Ofelia, and Melissa were dressed up as witches, identically costumed in floor-length, silk dresses and capes, and long conical, broad-brimmed hats, in three of Grizzelda's favorite shades of black--midnight eclipse, charcoal eternity, and woodsmoke cinder. As well, each of them had a handsome-looking straw broom at her side, and each of them had added a unique accessory to her costume: from Melissa's ears hung little miniature skeletons that clattered ominously every time she moved her head; Ofelia held a small cauldron; and on Grizzelda's shoulder, perched precariously, was the Marcus doll. Rhea's mom hovered anxiously by the front door, her notepad clasped tightly to her chest, her eyes darting nervously around the foyer. She wanted nothing more than to grab hold of Rhea's hand and escape from Horwood House.

"Wonderful!" said Grizzelda blithely, as she circled them, examining the detail of the costumes, "Absolutely marvelous!" She gave Sergeant Peary a slightly condescending smile, a part of her old self emerging, "I'm assuming you dressed them?"

Sergeant Peary shrugged his shoulders, looking a bit uncomfortable, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have done. "I suppose you could say that."

Mrs. Li had tentatively moved to where Rhea stood, staring at her with a great deal of caution and uncertainty. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dancing flames on her daughter's costume.

"Rhea?" she asked hesitantly. "Is that you?"

"Mom, can I go? Can I, please, go to the party at the funeral home?" she pleaded behind her mask.

Mrs. Li bristled. "Absolutely not! Oh, no dear, you don't want to be going there, do you? Isn't that Halloween party just for adults, not children? I'm sure it is. Oh, look, part of your hair is sticking out!" She bent over to fix Rhea's hair, and while she was doing so, whispered, "Who is she talking to, and where did you get this costume?"

"Motherrrrr. I do want to go, and you know the party isn't just for adults! And, if you really want to know, Grizzelda is talking to Sergeant Peary. He's the ghost standing over there beside Colin. You don't see him, do you? Well, he's there. And that's where I got my costume... from the ghost." She saw her mother's hesitation and pursued her advantage. "Please, can I go?"

"You're pulling my leg, Rhea. You love to do that, don't you, dear?" Mrs. Li laughed nervously, then said, "Absolutely not," in answer to Rhea's plea, although with a little less finality in her voice than before. She made a move back toward the front door, hoping to coax her daughter out of the house, when Grizzelda approached her.

"If you let Rhea come to the party, I'll permit someone to home school the children."

Mrs. Li was unsure what to think. Why this unexpected overture of peace? Why now? True, the evening's discussion had been without the usual thrust and parry, but it had ended in the customary stalemate not five minutes ago. Still, the idea of letting Rhea go to the annual Halloween party at Bevis, Bunk and Tellings gave her pause. The funeral home had been throwing a Halloween party, one of their community-minded gestures, for over a quarter of a century, and she'd never heard anything negative about these parties. It would probably be completely harmless, even though she, herself, wasn't enamored of celebrating Halloween, feeling it was in rather poor taste to make much of ghosts, witches, goblins – and the dead.

"Can she be home by eleven o'clock, or so? And who will watch out for her?" she asked giving in.

"Our dear Ofelia will chaperone her, Mrs. Li, and we'll see her home safely as soon as they draw for the door prizes at midnight."

"I'd like to talk with my daughter." Mrs. Li pulled Rhea aside, just out of listening range. "You really want to go, don't you? Rhea nodded. Well, if I let you go," she said, giving a small, internal shiver, "you will have to do something for me." She moved closer, her lips almost touching Rhea's ear. "Watch Ms. Horwood, she has been acting very strange. I think her state of mind is quite fragile at the moment. And whatever you do, please, stay close to Ofelia and the boys this evening."

Rhea nodded gravely to show she understood her mission--or was it more of a warning? She and her mother had always been close, but since her father had died, a distance had grown up between them. This confidence held the old familiarity again and Rhea had every intention of doing as her mom advised, but it didn't dampen the thrill of being able to attend the party.

***

The three witches, accompanied by the burning phoenix, the coyote, and Colin, marched down the dimly lamp-lit street. Colin, oddly enough, didn't feel out of place not having a costume on. Although still unnerving to him, the brooding invisible presence of the wind behind him now seemed to buoy his spirits. He noticed that traffic was slowing down to get a better look at their costumes, and the children ringing doorbells and knocking on front doors along the street were turning around and gawking at them, some calling out comments such as, "Awesome!", "Wicked!", "Way cool!", "Excellent!"

A long triangle of light from an open door caught his attention. Three children--a child covered in a sheet, a boy with an ax blade protruding from his head, and a pasty-faced girl, with big pointy teeth and blood dripping down her cheek--were holding out bags and an old man was putting something in them.

"What's that man giving them?" asked Colin.

"You really don't get out much, do you," chuckled Rhea, the flames of her headdress flaring slightly in reaction to her infectious laugh. "It's called 'trick or treat.' You dress up, knock on people's doors and say 'trick or treat.' If they don't give you a 'treat' then you're supposed to play a 'trick' on them."

"Really? You play a trick on them?" asked Spike, bouncing from the sidewalk edge onto the pavement and back again, his ears perking to attention and his eyes flashing with mischief. The end of his nose was dripping wet.

"Yeah, like covering a tree in their yard with toilet paper, or some other nasty things. A little joke is all right, but some people get a bit crazy. Some people," said Rhea, pointedly looking at Spike whose tail was wagging furiously, "when they put on a mask, get carried away."

Colin felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, like indigestion but much worse. It slowly made its way up his throat, and even though he tried to suppress it, it escaped in the form of a squelched burp. What happened amazed him. The Wind that had been latently following started to blow, creating a stiff breeze, and then as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared.

"Wow!" exclaimed Spike, "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," he said, wondering if his burp had anything to do with it. He caught Rhea looking at him strangely, as though she suspected him.

"What?" said Colin defensively, ready to deny, but they were all distracted by a flicker of movement further up the street in the bushes surrounding one of the houses. A group of children, dressed as fairies, clowns and various cute little animals were receiving their treats from none other than Hugh Dundas. The frail old man was stooped over placing treats in their bags. Straightening up, he stiffly motioned for them to stay as he went back into the house to get more treats. Behind the hedge in front of his house, three black shadows moved stealthily.

Rhea tapped Colin's shoulder, putting a finger up to her mouth for silence, then tapped Spike's shoulder, and when he turned to look at her she gestured to him with a zip-your-lip motion. She whispered to them, pointing to the three shadows, "Nixes!"

"Don't think so," said Peary's voice, startling them from behind where he had just appeared. "For some reason, Nixes don't come out on Halloween. It looks like three ninjas are about to egg those kids."

"They're just little kids! That's mean!" Rhea's flames flared angrily, turning a particular tinge of blue.

Colin felt his stomach begin to boil. Instinctively he wondered if a larger burp would create a larger wind.

Spike was already bounding off along the front lawns, jumping the low fences between the houses, springing off into the shrubs at the side of Hugh's yard.

Sergeant Peary gave a mischievous grin. "Go on, take care of business. I'll go stall your aunt. I'll tell her Spike had to do some business in the bushes, but don't be long. In her present happy state of mind, she'll probably understand, but I wouldn't want to push it." He wafted up to where the three witches marched on.

The ninjas were so absorbed, eggs gripped in hands, they didn't notice that the air about them was getting hotter. Not until the eggs they were holding started to steam, scorching their hands, did they notice. They dropped the eggs waving their hands about painfully as they turned to face Rhea and her wrathful flames. They stood there, stunned into silence, gaping at her. One of them turned towards Colin, his piggy eyes narrowing in recognition.

"No costume, eh, Rainbow, but then, you don't have to dress up now do you. You're already a clown."

Colin shrugged impishly, enjoying the discomfort they were feeling from the intense heat of Rhea's costume. "You better leave those kids alone."

"Get out of here before I treat you to a black eye," said Edge, the Ninja, pulling back his fist, ready to launch it at Colin.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Edgy," said Rhea mildly.

"Rusty?" he queried, suddenly very unsure staring at her flames. "Those aren't real are they?"

From beneath the hedge, Spike's arms reached out and untied the shoelaces of the unwitting ninjas and began to tie the laces together so that when they ran they would fall. "You think they're light bulbs or something?" she asked, the flames flaring out at the hapless ninjas.

Edge pushed forward aggressively, his porcine eyes shining like two black marbles.

He looked at Colin then turned back to Rhea, "What are you two supposed to be, Ugly and The Beast? The only thing is, I can't figure out who's Ugly and who's The Beast!" The other two ninjas gave muffled laughs behind their black masks.

The boil in Colin's belly leapt up into his throat. He suppressed it not knowing what would happen or who he might hurt if he didn't.

Rhea, her arms crossed defiantly said, "You can't go picking on helpless little kids! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"Sorry," said Edge with feigned sincerity, "so, what you're saying," he poked Rhea in the arm, shoving her back so that she stumbled, "is that we should pick on you?

"Congratulations Edge, for a dimwit you figured it out! That's exactly what I'm saying!" she countered pushing him back.

Edge kicked at the flaming feathers in her train. "See! Your fake flames didn't burn me. I knew they were fake." He reached out and flicked one of the feathers with his hand.

Rhea paused, momentarily confused because the flames weren't having any effect on Edge.

Edge pulled back a fist, ready again to throw a punch, this time at Rhea, and that's when Colin let go with a full-fledged burp.

Without warning, and with the impact of a giant's hand smashing down on them, the wind, in a microburst, knocked them flat to the ground. Colin had been right to be cautious because this blast of wind didn't differentiate between the ninjas and themselves, although the ninjas got the worst of it. Colin surveyed the damage. A tree across the street, roots torn from the ground, lay on its side. Just moments before, the hedge around the perimeter of Hugh Dundas' house had been perfectly groomed; now much of it was flattened. Colin pulled Rhea and Spike to their feet and staggered off down the street before Edge came to, not that he was afraid of the bully--he was more afraid of himself and of the wind that dwelt in him. The other ninjas rolled around on the grass trying to undo Spikes knots.

"Wha-what was the-that?" stuttered Spike trying to uncross his eyes. He had been under the bush that had been flattened.

Colin shrugged. He wasn't sure what the relationship between his burp and the wind was, but it was there, and he didn't want to evoke the seemingly capricious nature of the wind again. Then a chilling thought struck him: If this, like Rhea and Spike, was just a costume that imitated the effects of their true guardians, what could his real guardian do? All of a sudden Colin was very afraid of his true guardian. He shivered in the damp of the early evening.

"Are you guys all right?" asked Rhea.

Colin gave a quick nod and a dry swallow.

Spike, his pointy ears flattened against his head, looked from side to side, cautiously sniffing the air. "I think it's gone." He stared at Colin, his nose twitching. "It's gone, isn't it?"

"I think so," said Colin.

"If you children are through playing," Grizzelda's voice came from down the street. The three witches, having witnessed everything, were waiting, beneath a streetlight. "We should be on our way."

Bevis, Bunk and Tellings' Funeral Home was the creepiest-looking building Colin had ever seen. It was even stranger (if that was possible) than Horwood House. An old Victorian red-brick structure, it was designed to look ominous. The sharply sloping black tiled roof contrasted starkly with the white scrolled edging around the eaves; tall, sharp gables drew lines of focus up to the black, iron-railed widow's walk crowning the top of the structure. A lightning rod protruded from the highest point of the building. The arching brickwork in the several windows in the front of the building gave the impression of a many eyed beast staring down at them indifferently, as though life did not matter, that all that was important here was death. The façade reflected the nature of the business that was carried on within its walls, but its closed mouth

\--the steel-banded double door--refused to divulge any of its secrets. Although the appearance of the house commanded attention, its pull was secondary to the commotion in the parking lot.

A river of people swirled and eddied around a host of glowing, gap-toothed Jack-o-lanterns strung from pole to pole across the parking lot. From a speaker on the side of the funeral home came the sounds of cackling witches, moaning ghosts, and bubbling cauldrons. One entire side of the lot was dedicated to the set of a haunted town. Children, along with their parents, were circling through some of the dilapidated shacks, running and screaming. In others, they took their chances by sticking their hands in through windows to either receive treats or something disgusting. One little ghost was crying, his hand full of some oozing red sausages that looked like entrails. One kid was chewing contentedly on a candy eyeball.

"Enjoy," said Grizzelda waving her hand, urging them to explore.

"Where are you going?" asked Colin still feeling the after-effects of the wind.

Grizzelda stopped, her spine becoming rigid. She shuddered slightly, as though her patience was being severely tested, then turned about slowly, glaring at Colin. It seemed more than a hint of her former self was resurfacing. "I'm going inside, of course." And with that she was up the front steps and through the front door, which opened automatically to consume her.

Spike had already returned from visiting one of the buildings and was popping something grape-sized into his snout. He chewed.

"What are you eating?" asked Colin.

"Here," said Spike tossing one to him.

Colin caught the object, turned the orb in his fingers, until the iris and black pupil of the eye was staring at him. He was disgusted by its realism.

"They're great," said Spike, "taste like jelly beans, but much gooier. When you bite into them they squirt out something black!"

Colin didn't feel like eating it so he slid it into his pocket. Ofelia and Melissa were slowly making their way from one end of the fake town to the other. Rhea, her flames barely flickering, was silent, contemplative. She seemed melancholic about something.

Spike threw eyeballs high up into the air and caught them on his snout. He was quite good at it and a group of little goblins circling him were applauding every successful attempt.

"What's up?" Colin asked Rhea.

Rhea paused, "Oh, I dunno," she said guardedly. "It's been such a long time. I didn't think I'd feel this way. I had almost forgotten."

Colin waited patiently. He knew she wanted to talk about something, but he didn't want to pry.

"We had the funeral service for dad here."

"Sorry," said Colin trying to understand, but he found it difficult because he had no memories of his own parents or of losing them.

"Don't be, there's nothing anyone could do. It was a helicopter crash. Funny, you know, I've never really felt he was gone, that he was still around, watching," she said taking a deep, wavering breath. "Mom asked me to watch Grizzelda tonight."

"Why do you think she did that?"

"I -- I don't know, but she wouldn't have asked me if it wasn't important. So we need to go inside; the problem is that I don't know if I can do it."

Colin looked around for Sergeant Peary who had disappeared again. "For now, why don't we tell Ofelia we're going to check out the other side of the place, around back? There's bound to be other stuff there."

They found Ofelia and Melissa coming out of a building that had just been evacuated by a herd of screaming kids, including the workers. Melissa, contentment written on her face, strode confidently out of the dilapidated swinging doorway. Ofelia, holding onto her pointed hat, stooped to emerge. Her white teeth were shining.

"What did you do?" asked Colin.

"Me," said Ofelia innocently, "I can't help it. When I see heads, especially heads on platters, I have to make them sing."

"Could we go around behind?" asked Colin.

Ofelia hesitated, but only for a second before nodding her head. "Just as long as you're back in an hour." She whirled away, enveloped by a horde of ghosts, goblins and superheroes.

Pulling Spike away from his own adoring audience wasn't easy. First, they had to part the crowd, and then they had to convince him that there was something more interesting to do. Rhea grabbed his attention by telling him he might have a chance to play a few tricks on some poor unsuspecting victims.

They surveyed the back entrance to the funeral home. Fortunately, the door was unlocked. Music spilled out of the building, inviting them in.

Inside the mortuary, the smell and sight of deep dark wood wreathed them. The music wasn't the type that most people associate with death and dying. This was no dirge for the dead; it summoned the wild salsa rhythm of the living. As they followed the sound, the cheering and chanting grew louder. Some of the plush rooms they passed held coffins. One, almost entirely covered in flowers, seemed like a garden bed instead of the resting place for some poor, unfortunate soul.

Even though the driving music and the sounds of the celebration drove them on, a picture on the wall gripped their attention with such strength that it forced them to stop and stare. Dressed in strange, stiff, dark suits, with high collars, four men stood close together, their hands layered one on top of the other, as though they were making a pact. Three of them they didn't recognize--they were, in fact, none other than Bevis, Bunk and Tellings--but the fourth, they recognized. The nose, the chin, and the deep penetrating eyes belonged to a young Zuhayer Horwood. All four stared out from the painting defiantly, as if they were challenging the very darkness that surrounded them.

"What does Horwood have to do with them?" asked Spike, his wet nose almost touching the painting.

"I don't know," said Colin, feeling the anxious tension in him growing. The music, which just a moment ago had been so happy and carefree, now seemed dark and sinister, almost mocking the cheer it was supposed to represent. Not even the flames from Rhea's costume could entirely dispel the gloom that settled about them.

They soon found out where the music and laughter were coming from, but the entrance was guarded. Two very large semi-transparent ghosts in stovepipe top hats and tuxedoes were standing in front of an open door, large arms crossed imposingly over their chests. From the daunting look on their faces it seemed that it would be impossible to get past them. Beyond the guard ghosts they could see the revelers dancing about, arms waving in the air.

The rhythm of the music changed and a large cheer went up. Grizzelda was there, in the center, drawing everyone's attention, her pale lissome arms waving about in the air. Her face was tilted upward, joyous, ecstatic. As she moved to the music's beat, a vampire behind her, which looked distinctly like Mr. Blandish, placed his hands on her hips and began to follow her about the room. Others followed forming a gruesome conga queue: Grizzelda the witch; Blandish, a convincing Dracula; Anne Boleyn, "with her head tucked underneath her arm"; the Grim Reaper; Snow White's step-mother; a pirate; a flame-haired woman dressed as a French trollop; a WWI soldier with a bloody bandaged head; a half-Raggedy Anne/half-Raggedy Andy doll; a bearded fat lady in a hot pink muumuu; and a six-foot-tall, yellow chrysanthemum. Grizzelda was not only the life, but also the object of adoration, the heart, the very essence, of the party.

Colin stepped forward and the guards, assessed them, cold eyes sliding over them with a dispassionate touch. A large hand opened, palm up, waiting to be filled.

"Invitation, please," said one of the ghosts his voice echoing strangely.

"Yes," responded Colin rifling through his pockets, then he realized he didn't have the invitation anymore. It had vanished. "It's gone, but I did have it," he said in disbelief, looking haplessly at the ghosts.

"No invitation, no entry." It was as final as a door being slammed.

"Come on," said Spike trying to push past. His invitation was also missing. "What are a couple of ghosts going to do?" The intensity of the music had worked him up to the point of eager frenzy, and now being denied access was more agitation than he could bear. His legs were visibly vibrating, almost uncontrollably, and he could no longer restrain himself. He had to dance! As he came in contact with one of the ghosts, a flash of blinding, blue light pitched him onto his backside where he sat stunned and staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Whoa, little dogie!" said Sergeant Peary, his robust voice parting the two ghosts. He had been dancing in the room. He was holding hands with none other than Silverberry. Colin felt his throat go dry. She regarded him with her dreamy smile and mellow eyes, saying so much, yet revealing nothing. She was dressed in the same white blouse and sheer multi-colored skirt they had seen her in at the river; and she was as wet as ever, leaving sodden footprints behind her, even though she floated above the ground. It was as though water was flowing effortlessly from her very pores. Then she saw Spike sprawled on the floor, and her smile faded. She floated to his side, kneeled down and placed his head in her lap.

"Are you all right?" she asked stroking his forehead.

"What?" responded Spike, his focus dispelling the blur around the edges of his vision that now was full of a smiling Silverberry. He immediately felt better. The coyote persona had invaded him so absolutely that he not only tingled to her gentle touch, but his right leg, embarrassingly, began to beat the floor like a drumstick hitting a drum.

"You don't want to mess with these bad boys," said Sergeant Peary, referring to the guards who were back to ignoring them in stolid silence. "They're guard ghosts with special dispensation--they have certification from The Union to interfere with corporeal beings." He lowered his voice to a knowing whisper, "Trust me, you don't want to get them ticked off."

"But we have to get in there!" blurted out Rhea, watching hypnotically as Grizzelda led another pass of the conga line. They were dancing in the room where the wake for her father had been conducted two years ago. However, the sharpness of the pain had lessened. In fact, she felt a joy fill her being: inexplicably, she felt that part of her father, was in the room now, dancing. Impossible, she knew, but there it was, a certainty waving about at the end of the conga line, beckoning her to join the raucous, snaking procession. If she could get in, maybe she could see her father again. It was a foolish thought, but an uncontrollable one.

Sergeant Peary arched his eyebrows, as though seeing her for the first time: "We do, do we?"

Rhea regarded the ghost pleadingly, searching his transparent eyes. He knew! He'd been able to _see_ what she had only been able to sense!

"Can you get us in?" asked Colin, coming to Rhea's aid. "Grizzelda is not herself, and..."

"...and?" responded the ghost waiting for further reasons.

Spike had revived somewhat and was now back on his feet. His eyes were still a bit blurry. He was in bliss as Silverberry smoothed the fur on his head.

"You know," muttered Spike, "when I hit the floor, I saw the statue in front of the house, but it was finished. Was it ever creepy."

Sergeant Peary took the stubby end of his cigar out of his mouth and twisted it thoughtfully.

"Someone's carving the block?" Peary asked.

Colin nodded. "Someone did its legs."

Sergeant Peary was bothered by this and, if it was possible for a ghost, he paled.

He looked at them seriously, "It's not being carved. Michelangelo said that when he sculpted, it was like freeing what was within. I'm afraid this is the case with the statue."

"What's inside?" asked Colin, momentarily forgetting their need to get into the guarded room.

Sergeant Peary glanced fearfully at the two ghost guards. "Sorry, lad, I can't say. They'd yank me into the light faster than you can shake a stick... if you had a stick, that is. But don't fret, I've promised Grandfather Thunder I'd help."

While they talked, much to Rhea's dismay, the doors slowly began to close, as though what was going on within wasn't for their eyes. The music, only slightly muffled, still thrummed with wanton frivolity from within. Then a deathly silence settled--nothing. Colin could hear his own breath.

Something behind the closed doors had just occurred, something dreadful. Rhea backed away from the door, eyes wide with horror. Spike's nose twitched as he bared his teeth. Colin could feel the turmoil in his stomach, and the pressure of the air building behind him, swelling up like an invisible, monstrous cloud.

Slowly, the ominous tension began to lessen, and Spike's and Rhea's costumes began to flicker, becoming alternately transparent and solid. Rhea's flames became small, going out, one by one, and as they went out they left a patch of bare skin beneath. Spike pawed at his fur that was falling out in large clumps. His nose and ears began to shrink. Colin also noticed that his clothes were becoming rather thin.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking at the bare skin on his leg through his clothing.

Sergeant Peary looked a bit guilty. "Sorry, I couldn't tell you before, but since it's happening now, when the clothes were transformed into your costumes, they were used up."

"You mean to say...," gasped Rhea. Thoughts of her father were suddenly washed away by the bare reality of what Sergeant Perry was saying.

"Yeah, sorry. You might want to consider getting home. In about five minutes the three of you are going to be butt-naked." Then he leaned in close to Rhea so that only she could hear. There was an odd, sensitive glisten in the Sergeant's eyes. "Don't worry about your dad," he glanced apprehensively at the two large guards that were beginning to stir, as though irritated by some unseen source. "He's doing fine."

The guards now moved towards Sergeant Peary whom they had targeted as the source of the irritation. But then the doors suddenly opened and a cold chill rushed through them. There, alone, stood Grizzelda. The Marcus doll was holding on frantically to her neck, a look of terror on its plastic face. Black rivers of mascara marred her face, etched there by tears. Her red lips trembled. But it was her eyes that held them fast, that accused them of being the source of her sudden misery. Slowly she lifted a shaking hand and pointed a long finger accusingly at them.

"You!" she said hoarsely, as though she had been yelling for a very long time. "All of you. It's all your fault!"

"As your officially appointed guardian," muttered Sergeant Peary into his chest, trying to avoid eye contact, "I would advise a full retreat, because that's exactly what I'm going to do!" And with that, both, Sergeant Peary and Silverberry disappeared.

Colin grabbed Rhea by the hand and Spike by the scruff of his neck and they raced out the back way. Outside, in the parking lot, Colin and Rhea pulled oil-cloths from two tables littered with used paper plates and cups, and Spike yanked free a length of bunting decorating the edge of a concrete retaining wall by the building.

"I can't go home like this. My mom will freak! We'd better go to my cousins' place. Okay?" said Rhea, wrapping the oilcloth around herself. "They only live a few blocks away. Come on!"

Chapter Twelve: First Game

The pluvial damp was thick in the air, on the pavement, covering everything, making the night street glisten with a shiny gloss. Colin looked down at his reflection in a puddle and frowned. Although it was becoming harder to tell what was dream and what was real, he knew that this was a dream. Yet, he felt the chill damp of the mist making his clothes heavy and sodden, smelling of the river's freshness. Maybe this wasn't a dream. He calmed down and thought. What made this a dream: he had never been here before; there were no people around; and he knew that, before being here, he had been curled up in his buffalo skin listening to Spike's abrasive snoring. Still, everything seemed so real--no, it was beyond real, it was surreal.

A black shadow, no more than a wisp of smoke, flickered across the street. As it traveled it grew, taking on size and form until it stepped into a pool of light beneath one of the lamplights. Casually, it leaned up against the metal pole that supported the light, that tilted so far down that it almost came in contact with the upturned collar of the shadow's trench coat. Colin thought of Shadow Nixes and spies.

"Who are you?" he called out, watching as his own warm breath curled into the water-laden air. He didn't know how long he could stay because he was starting to shiver. Then he reminded himself that this was a dream.

The shadow remained, silent, but the head moved in response to his voice. Colin noticed that the shadow had its hair bound in a long pony tale that went halfway down its back. It looked as though it was holding onto an unopened umbrella. There was something familiar about the thin form, and he relaxed a bit, confident that the shadow wasn't a Nix.

Then the music started to play, and with an adroit move, the tip of the umbrella pushed the tilted fedora back so that Colin could see the shadow's features. Grandfather Thunder started to dance. Where the music came from, he didn't know, but it seemed to come from all around them all at once. It scampered out of the wet air to accompany Grandfather's whimsical skill of splashing in the puddles and swinging around lampposts. Age melted from his frame, leaving him with blurring feet that made him seemingly float across the street. He wasn't so much dancing alone in the rain as he was dancing with it. When the music slowly wound down, petering out into a whimsical, humming stroll, he casually walked up to Colin with a big grin on his wet face. He flipped the umbrella open and held it over them to protect them from the rain that was now coming down in curtains.

"Sorry about that, but dreams are a safer place to meet these days. I bet you never thought I had a thing for musicals?" When Colin just responded with a blank, unknowing almost stare, he continued. "For you and Spike it's comic books, for me it was musicals."

Colin nodded beginning to understand. The street seemed safe, but it was still dreadfully cold.

"Don't worry, the Shadow Nixes can't get inside your dreams... nightmares, maybe, but not dreams."

"What's the difference?" asked Colin, his teeth beginning to chatter together. His hands were turning purple.

"You control your dreams, even though most don't know it, and nightmares are controlled by others. But, I'm not here to talk about dreams. How are things going?"

Colin felt awkward, not knowing exactly what to say beneath grandfather's piercing gaze.

"Grizzleda is back to her nasty self," Colin blurted out, feeling a sudden release of the dread that had been building inside him.

"I know, I know," he said in a conciliatory manner, "but which is the real Grizzelda? The root you can only bring out what is already there."

"I don't understand," said Colin confusedly.

"You know when I took her in, she was in quite a state. Wouldn't talk, but she really hung onto you, as if her life depended on it. Grizzelda can be domineering, controlling even nasty at times, but she cares about you, deeply."

Colin thought about this. She did care for him, but he doubted his aunt was entirely sane. "She talks to herself."

"I talk to myself, especially now, and I dress up and dance, and..."

"Yes, but she talks to herself in the mirror, and the mirror talks back."

Grandfather Thunder took his fedora off and rubbed the rim of the hat with his finger. "The mirror talks back?"

"Yes."

"What's the voice like?"

"It's hard to make out. It's like a whisper, but I think it's a man's voice," explained Colin.

"Listen," said Grandfather Thunder. "If you can, try to find out what the voice is saying. I don't think you're that far off from what you tell me about your aunt. You may have given her a reprieve by giving her that root, but remember whatever she does, I don't think it's the real Grizzelda doing it."

"There's something else -- the statue, it's really strange; it's like something is making it magically appear."

Grandfather Thunder waved his hand at the rain with a dismissive gesture and the rain stopped. "What do you think that power is, that's making the statue appear?"

"I don't know." No answer came to Colin's cold, numb, mind. Grandfather had a way of asking questions that couldn't be answered.

"Magic is the wrong word, and is often fitted to things not understood. Have you ever wondered why your special gifts, Spike's ability to use his senses, and Melissa's gift for music, come seemingly out of thin air? You're not doing anything that isn't already there around you, ready for you to use when the time is right. You see, Zuhayer, for all his faults, was a very smart man. He knew where this power was the strongest, and that's where he built his house. Years ago, when I was a boy, young shamans were taken to very special places in order to learn. They were instructed in the art of healing and in the laws of nature-–but it isn't magic. The similarity between these places and Horwood House is this: they all marked a fault line, a crack in the earth where this power was actively seeping up into our world."

Colin shivered, refusing to see himself in the same light as Zuhayer Horwood. "But he's evil!"

Grandfather Thunder let out a long breath. "Did you know that evil spelled backwards is live? Even though "evil" is used as a noun and "live" as a verb the twisting of one into the other does make them comparable. Just twisted, remember that, and by all means, don't use fear as a base for judging others, use wisdom. Your aunt is being twisted and you have to find out who is doing the twisting. It may be her only hope." He started to hum again, the music returning, his legs twitching to life.

"Wait!" shouted Colin, afraid Grandfather Thunder would dance right out of his dream. He had so many questions he needed to ask. "Grizzelda is interviewing teachers for us."

"Good, it's about time! See, that's evidence of her caring."

"But, what if she finds someone who is... like her?"

"You could do worse."

"How?" asked Colin getting a bit frustrated.

"She could've abandoned you, left you to die. There are people that delight in inflicting pain. Your aunt does it inadvertently. You may not believe this right now, but she is a lot harder on herself than on you. Just watch her."

"The voice in the mirror, do you know who it is?"

Grandfather Thunder shrugged. "What do you see when you look in the mirror, any mirror?"

"Myself," stuttered Colin as the music sprang up, full of energy, and inserted itself in-between them, pushing them apart. Grandfather Thunder began skipping across the wet street, leaving.

"Don't worry," he said flipping the fedora up onto his head and rubbing the brim between his thumb and forefinger, "just be true to yourself. I have all the confidence in the world in you."

"What about the statue?"

"Don't worry," said Grandfather Thunder jumping into a puddle of water and splashing about in it, becoming transparent as he did so, "just be true."

He was gone, and Colin woke up.

***

The day progressed quietly--everyone staying out of Grizzelda's black wake--but eventually the time came when Colin had to remind her about soccer. Tonight was their first game and they were back to having to get permission to leave.

"Auntie," said Colin, as he approached her hesitantly. She was staring out a window, fixating on the statue. The only things left to be carved on the statue were the arms and the head. "Could I talk to you?"

Her entire back stiffened. Was she reinforcing herself, or was she furious? Colin didn't know what to expect, but when she turned to face him, her hardened, bitter face made him want to step back. He couldn't help but think about what Grandfather Thunder had said. It was as though a sheet of steel had descended about his aunt's face, but deep underneath, in her eyes, glistened a faint sensitive spark, but then the shadow inside her extinguished it. A dark cloud seemed to grow around her. He held his place, but reached out with his mind to see if he could slip beneath her defenses. He had done it with things like water; why couldn't he do it with his aunt's defenses? If the Nix could get into her, maybe he could get it out in a similar manner. In a moment, he felt himself begin to slip, to become small... then without warning he was violently jerked backwards.

His aunt hesitated, wanting him to investigate, pleading for him to do so, to root out was inside her, to expose it, but when she felt him slipping in, the Shadow Nix panicked taking control. It was about to strike out at Colin when Grizzelda acted. She could not bare the idea of her sister's child being harmed. "Don't you dare!" hissed Grizzelda bitterly. "Do you think you're the only one who can _see_ things?" It was better to hurt the boy this way than to have the thing in her hurt him. "Do you think you're the only one who was ever left alone? You don't think I miss him to? Well, wake up!" Her face twisted tortuously. "You and Spike can go to your little game tonight, and every night for all I care. From the Things, you will have nothing to worry about, but if you try to sneak about anymore, without telling me, I cannot--will not--be held accountable for what they will do to you! Do you understand me?" She stabbed him through with her piercing eyes.

The last statement hit with such force, such vehemence that all Colin could do was nod his head.

"Good," she said then swirled past him to disappear, absorbed by the house. He tried to keep his balance as her black wake nearly knocked him over. Strange, he listened to the sound of his aunt stalking away, was she crying? He thought about what Grandfather Thunder had said about the house being built on a fault line, about his aunt not being herself, and wondered who she was.

***

"That's great," said Spike pacing alongside Colin as they walked up the street toward the Sportsplex. Ever since dressing up, or more realistically, becoming a coyote, Spike's physical movements had become more like the wily creature. His head, arms, legs were in constant motion. "I mean this soccer thing could actually be good."

"Come on, you hate the idea; you'd rather be chasing after Silverberry."

"No, actually, I don't mind--I mean the part about soccer. Silverberry is something else. I mean how can she be here and not be here all at the same time?"

"Maybe it's the same type of thing that goes on in the tower: on the outside it looks like it isn't there, but on the inside, it is." He didn't want to tell him more about _Inbetween_ , not yet.

"You ever wonder what's in those other rooms?" asked Spike looking more mischievous than ever.

"No, I haven't," lied Colin, not wanting to give him any excuse to get into any more trouble. "Come on, we've got a game to lose."

The green artificial turf, the uniformed players of the opposing field, the air of expectation excited Spike. Colin dreaded it, but an animated Rhea, her vibrant hair tied back, made him smile. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

"Are you ready to give it your best shot?" she asked.

"You know me, I learn from every failure," he quipped.

Colin peeked around her and saw Rhea's Grandma sitting placidly at a bench reading what looked like a manual. Next to her were Tan and Chloe. Tan, a rather skinny kid with thick glasses, was looking about nervously and shuffling something in his hands, while Chloe was curiously examining her surroundings. They both had black hair. Both sister and brother shared some of Rhea's facial features, mostly in the shape of their chins and their wide almond-shaped eyes. But there was something else about Chloe, something he'd not noticed before. It was the way she was standing. It reminded him of Spike's stance. She looked around at things in much the same way too, as though she was trying to find something funny or entertaining. Colin swiveled around searching for Spike. Sure enough, he was checking out his surroundings in the same manner as was Chloe. Weird!

Across the artificial plane of green he saw Edge and Coach Bone. Inside, he groaned. With his mouth pulled taut and wide in a maniacal grin, and barely moving his lips, he said, "What a great start to the season. We're going to be annihilated by the Terminators."

"Yeah, isn't it great!" she said with perverse delight. "Come on, Grandma has our new shirts!"

"Shirts?" exclaimed Spike tearing his eyes away from his own cursory exploration of the room.

"Tan and Chloe's parents run a restaurant in town and they've decided to sponsor us."

They lined up in front of Grandma Li, but she kept her nose buried in a manual. Colin thought that it must have had something to do with soccer, but on closer examination he saw that it was a book on herbology. Rhea eagerly opened a small box and tossed them their rumpled lime-green soccer shirts. After the last one had flown through the air to be caught by Colin, she looked up apologetically trying to hide her own disappointment with a brave smile. The only thing nice about the shirts was the logo over the left breast, a tiny deft design of a dragon and phoenix pursuing each other's tail in a circle. Otherwise, the shirts--their hideous color and the large plate of steaming noodles underscored with the restaurant's name --were very ugly. Colin flipped the shirt around to see if there were any numbers there. There weren't.

"Not to worry," said Grandma Li's clipped voice. "I brought some tape." Without looking up from her book, she rummaged in her large purse for the tape and gently threw it up in the air.

Without missing a beat, Rhea caught it and began to busily rip pieces off to stick onto the backs of the shirts. She flipped Colin's shirt for him to see, and gave a weak smile. "Number one!" and handed it to Colin.

"So," said Spike considerately, looking at the plate of noodles on the front of the shirt, "we're The Noodles?"

"No, no!" laughed Grandma Li, "you not just The Noodles, you are The _Steaming_ Noodles! Great name, eh? Come, come, it is just a name and we must respect our sponsor. You prefer The Nothings?"

They shook their heads. They were 'The Steaming Noodles', and the name would spawn others, like the 'Noodle Heads' and the 'Wet Noodles', none of which struck fear into the hearts of the opposition.

"So," said Colin trying not to feel too self-conscious about the shirts, "I'm in net, then?" He offered up the question to anyone, because Grandma Li continued to read her book and showed no indication of taking her coaching job seriously.

Rhea nodded, handing back the other shirts to Spike, Tan and Chloe, who, for a moment looked like they didn't know what to do with them, but then slowly slipped them on. They _looked_ like a bunch of... 'Noodle Heads.'

"We'll play two, two, one, I guess," said Rhea, tentatively glancing over at her Grandma, but when no support came from that quarter, she firmed up. "Colin, you're in net, I'll play forward with Tan. Spike and Chloe, you play defense."

Colin noticed that Chloe, Tan and Spike all had vacant, bewildered expressions on their faces. He recognized that stunned look. That's how he'd reacted the first time he'd played. He was now an experienced player, which for obvious reasons, didn't make him feel exactly comfortable. People with experience were supposed to instill confidence. He turned, hopefully to Rhea.

"Okay, now I know the other team has more experience than we do, but all we have to do is pass the ball, and remember, indoor soccer has a lot more scoring, so the likelihood of us getting some goals is a lot higher...."

"Rhea," said Chloe, looking about uncomfortably, "what are you supposed to do on defense?"

"Get the ball away from the other team and pass it up to Tan and me. Simple, right?" she said with a foolish smile on her face.

"Can I ask a silly question?" asked Spike looking over at the other team. The Terminators, in their dapper red and black striped shirts, were running back and forth on their side of the field, moving with the ball, passing it and then shooting it. Echoing over and around them, enveloping them like a huge wave, was the big, blustering voice of Mr. Bone. "Don't we need some balls to warm up with? We're supposed to warm up, right?"

Rhea shuffled her feet uncomfortably, then reached inside an old burlap bag and pulled out a small ball made up of tightly bound up rags.

"That's a ball?" asked Tan as he looked up, adjusted his glasses, and gazed over the cards he had been examining in his hands.

Rhea didn't wait to explain, but dropped the ball of rags and kicked it deftly into their own goal. "Come on, let's warm up. Tan you have to leave those cards on the bench. You don't want them to get damaged do you?"

Tan hesitated, but then acquiesced and followed his cousin hesitantly out onto the field. He shoved his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. They had a habit of sliding down onto the end of his nose again. Then Spike and Chloe looked at each other, shrugged, and followed them on to the field.

Colin, as he tried to block the rag ball from going into the net, had a perfect view of Edge's team. The Terminators were everything they were not. First, they looked good dressed in their red and black striped shirts, with black shorts and red socks. He felt a bit embarrassed, because the only things that identified them as a team were their shirts. They all had different colored shorts and socks, no shin protectors, and no soccer shoes. Colin knew Rhea had the equipment, but she wasn't wearing it tonight. He admired her for that, even though it was rather foolish. A kick in the shin was painful. While the other team kicked their soccer balls with gusto, they tapped their ball of rags about tentatively. Tan wasn't sure how this kicking thing went and kept missing the ball. Chloe, like Spike, could hit the ball, but it went careening off in all directions. Only Rhea could hit the net from where she was, however, Colin couldn't prevent it from going in.

"'But there was no unity. There was no vision,'" said Sergeant Peary appearing with a loud 'POP'. He was dressed in his tuxedo and wore a bowler hat. His cigar, as usual, smoldered away between his teeth. He looked like he had put on a lot of weight, and when Colin didn't respond to his quote, he deflated disappointedly, rolling his eyes. "Winston Churchill said that about Europe's inability to stand up to the NAZIs."

"You're here to watch, I hope," said Colin dryly. Actually he hoped the ghost was going to interfere. Nothing could get any worse.

The ghost nodded.

"We're going to get crushed," Colin complained, trying to warn the ghost away. He looked balefully over at The Terminators. Mr. Bone was now whipping up his team into a frenzied pitch. They were doing an exercise where they all stood in a circle and kicked the ball back and forth to one another. He was amazed, so hypnotized, that they abruptly stopped their own warm up to watch

"Don't worry, 'This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning,'" said Sergeant Peary trying to comfort them, but as usual he just confused.

"Winston Churchill?"

"Absolutely. The one thing that Churchill had that your team doesn't, is that he was on an island. Your team, unfortunately, doesn't have any water to separate you from the enemy. I'll just slip over here, to watch the game."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," said Colin watching the ghost waft over to the sidelines where he sat down beside Grandma Li, crossed his legs, and began to read the book she was so engrossed in.

The referee blew his whistle and motioned for the two captains to come to the center of the field. Rhea hesitated.

"I guess I'm captain? Is that all right?" she asked her team.

Everyone nodded, impressed that Rhea would even want to take responsibility for such a team. Colin watched, as though he was in a dream, but then followed Rhea out onto the field. He wasn't about to let her face this alone.

"What? Both of you are your team's captains?" said Edge, his face full of mocking ridicule.

When the referee, in the black and white striped shirt, didn't say anything, they assumed it was all right.

"We're co-captains," asserted Rhea.

The referee nodded.

"Co-captains of the Noodle Heads? Nice shorts, Rainbow," said Edge contemptuously.

Colin fought the urge to look down at his red, yellow and blue-banded shorts.

"I'll toss a coin..." began the referee, but was cut off by Edge.

"Don't bother, let them have the ball first, they'll need it." Edge turned and walked away. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

The referee dropped the ball and the whistle sounded shrilly. The nightmare began. Rhea heeled the ball back and away from Edge towards Tan. It was the same with every game: get the ball back to your team, and then pass it, moving up the field. The only problem with this was that Tan looked rather bewildered when the ball rolled up to his feet. By the time he figured out he had to kick it, Edge, who was bearing down on him like a charging rhinoceros, had kicked him in the shin while stripping him of the ball. The only thing that saved them from being scored on was that Spike and Chloe were still clustered in front of the net. Edge wound up, kicked the ball, hitting Spike square on the side of the head. It was going so fast that it knocked him down, bounced off the wall, and continued bouncing halfway down the field.

"Nice save, Dog Boy. That's a little pay back for tying our shoe laces," chortled Edge before turning to get back on side.

Rhea had the ball, but she was immediately swarmed with black and red striped Terminators and she couldn't do anything, except pass to Tan, who feebly kicked the ball to one of the opposing players. He was still limping from being kicked in the shins.

"What do we do?" asked Spike, still in front of the net. He shook his head, a bit dazed.

"Get up there, take the ball away from them, and pass it to Rhea," Colin told him. "Chloe, you stay back. If anyone gets through, you stop them."

Chloe nodded, but he could tell she hadn't a clue how to carry out his instructions.

The Terminators were charging down on them again when Spike ran out to defend. He looked with amazement as the ball floated up and over his head, landing behind him, and at the feet of another Terminator. The big blond Terminator glanced up at Colin to sight his shot, but was never able to get it off because a flying Chloe tackled him around the legs, tripping him to the ground. The whistle sounded shrilly, signaling a stoppage in the play, and the referee ran over, pulled out a yellow card and waved it in front of Chloe's face. He wrote her number in his book.

"What are you smiling about?" Rhea asked, giving her cousin a hand up.

"I was supposed to stop him, right? And the referee gave me a nice yellow card for doing it, right? That's good, right?" said Chloe exuberantly, her dark hair hanging in front of her face.

"No, that's not all right! You're not supposed to trip people on purpose. If you get another yellow card, you're out of the game and we'll have to play without you, and that's not good," emphasized Rhea, hoping Chloe understood.

Chloe looked a bit confused.

Colin was ready for the penalty shot, but it still sizzled into the net behind him making the score one/nil. He looked disappointedly down at the ball and kicked it as hard as he could. The ball sailed the length of the field, bounced off the far wall and hit Edge right in the back of the head, knocking the smirk off his face. The referee blew his whistle again, ran up to him and gave him a yellow card too. Spike was doubled over laughing.

"If I see anything like that again, you're out of here!" warned the ref.

Colin didn't even get a chance to explain that he hadn't meant to hit anybody, that he was just tired of being a lousy keeper, a lousy player. Spike and Chloe came over and gave him an encouraging pat on the back.

"That was some awesome kick! Could you do it again, I mean the bouncing off Edge's head was perfect," said Spike wolfishly.

Then the whistle sounded and the game was back on. The first half was a bit of a nightmare. The Terminators scored eight times; eight times they bullied their way down on them; eight times Edge turned away smirking; eight times he made some sort of snide comment. The last thing he said before the end of the half was when Rhea, Tan, Chloe and Spike were gasping for air around their own goal.

"Why don't _you_ people go back to where you belong? You're never going to get this game."

Colin, sweat dripping down his face, quickly stepped between Rhea and Edge. He had never seen her so furious. Even though they were losing eight to zero, without Rhea, it would've been much, much worse.

"Get lost," said Colin feeling the wind gathering behind him.

"Whatcha gonna do, Rainbow? Cry?" taunted Edge, turning his back on them and strutting away.

"Meathead," muttered Colin under his breath, but he could tell by the way that thick neck stiffened that he had been heard.

Colin stepped up beside Rhea as they walked heavily to their bench for their half time break. He noticed Rhea looked particularly saddened. "Rhea, what did he mean by saying _you_ people?"

Rhea shook her head and pretended to wipe the sweat out of her eyes, but Colin knew they were tears.

"It's not important."

And then Grandma Li was there wrapping towels around their shoulders and thrusting white bottles into their hands. Colin took a drink, and was immediately infused with energy. He felt the restorative tonic running like a shockwave throughout his body. Old Mrs. Li was on her way to winning him over by taking the first step to act like their coach.

"What _is_ this!" exclaimed Spike taking another huge, greedy gulp.

"Easy, now," cautioned Grandma Li, reaching over to pull the bottle away from Spike. "If you take too much, you be running forever, unable to stop, like crazy, pink bunny on idiot box! This is ancient secret; it meant to be taken little bit at a time.

Now, gather round, so enemy cannot hear us. You too, Ghost Boy!" she said to Sergeant Peary who was trying to peek into their circle by floating upside down from above. Grandma Li paused, staring into everyone's face before beginning. "Now, I may know nothing about this game, but like any game, the goal is to win, and right now, there is no way that going to happen!"

"Thanks, Grandma," mumbled Rhea.

"No, no, you crazy kid, you not understand! You can't win right now because you all playing wrong way. You must listen to your guardian spirits! "You," she said to Tan, catching him not paying attention, "give me those cards!" She drew a card out of the pack and handed it back to him. It was the picture of a Samurai warrior with his sword in the defensive position. "You will defend. You are keeper of the net. That is what you do, neh?

"You two," she said, snapping her fingers beneath the noses of Chloe and Spike, "you two are dogs. You both play back, like you already doing, but chase the ball, and remember, you are good dogs that never leave home, never leave middle or back, neh?"

Colin saw perfectly what Grandma Li was saying. Spike and Chloe did both hop around like excited canines. He felt his heart take up a faster beat, knowing what was coming with all the positions accounted for.

"And you two, you should never be separated! Work with each other, fight with each other, sometimes against each other. You are yin and yang, female and male of everything, perfect harmony. They can never be divided. You two play up front."

"But Grandma," said Rhea, about to complain about how Tan had never played net before, but she was silenced by the old woman's raised hand. She may have been extremely small, but when something was final, there was no arguing with her.

"I have spoken. What you think, ghost boy?" she asked Sergeant Peary.

Colin noticed how neither Tan nor Chloe seemed particularly surprised by the presence of the ghost. He could tell they could see him because their eyes were now on him after Grandma Li asked her question.

"Seems like a plan," growled Peary, squinting his eyes. "That Edge fellow needs to be taught some lessons, and I'd say, now would be a good time to start!"

"You're not going to do anything, right?" asked Colin apprehensively. The last thing he needed was the ghost getting them kicked out of the indoor league.

"Me? Don't be daft! It's not my game, it's yours! You guys are going to make a game of it. Now let me show you something I learned in boot camp! Gather round. Now put your hands into the center." Everyone put their hand in, creating a pile of hands. "Now on three, we're going to shout the word 'Noodles' as loud as we can, all right? One, two, three..."

"NOODLES!"

Edge and the other Terminators, including Mr. Bone stopped what they were doing and looked over at them momentarily startled, before shaking their heads in amused disbelief.

"Do not worry; they can shake their crazy heads all they want. They going to be in for big surprise! Other thing you should do is...," Grandma Li leaned in close, "is use your _talents_."

Colin hesitated, staring at his feet.

"What is matter with you, neh? The answer not in feet!" she shouted.

"Well, isn't that cheating?"

"Naw," said the old woman, crossing her arms, "no more than that big kid doing."

"Edge? He has special talents?" asked Colin a bit aghast at the idea.

"You not think rotten kids can be special? They can be just as special as rotten adults! His talent is being bully! Now, go get 'em!"

With that, Grandma Li picked up her half-read book and contentedly sat back down on the bench as though the game wasn't happening at all.

The Terminators had the kick off for the second half. Colin tried to do as Grandma Li had suggested, use his talent; but really, he didn't know how it would apply here. This was a lot different than cleaning stairs, or looking into water. However, he knew one thing: The Terminators were really fast. If he could slow things down a bit, he might have a chance of getting the ball away from them. After he got the ball, he'd have to figure out what to do with it, but one thing at a time. He focused on Edge, felt the sweat from the effort dripping down his face, and concentrated on slowing things down. Nothing happened.

But suddenly he knew where the ball was going to go. It wasn't like falling into the water; this time it was like looking at hundreds of lines emanating from each player, blue and red lines. The red lines were the important ones; these lines told him which way the ball was going to go. He had thought that Edge was going to heel the ball back, but the red line shooting across the floor said he was going to kick it forward and quickly run after it.

"After he kicks the ball, run for their net," whispered Colin to Rhea who looked at him quizzically and, then hesitantly gave a nod.

The whistle blew and the second half was on.

Just as the red line had predicted, Edge kicked the ball ahead, but Colin quickly stepped into its path and, intercepting it, passed the ball to Rhea, which spun past the surprised Edge. She then flipped it over the head of the Terminator defender. Pursuing it, she caught up with the ball and hit it with such force that the Terminator keeper jumped fearfully away from the ball. In the stunned silence that settled on the field, The Terminators realized they had been scored upon.

Sergeant Peary was doing a peculiar dance with high kicks while Grandma Li temporarily glanced over the top of her book to give a slight nod and smile. The Noodles gave Rhea a mass hug, falling on top of each other as though they had just won a championship. After a few moments, when their celebration showed no sign of abating, the referee had to separate them, reminding them sternly that if such behavior continued he'd have to give the entire team a red card.

"Just luck," snarled Edge, his brush cut bristling as he prepared to kick off again.

He was wrong; it wasn't luck. The changes Grandma Li had made were profound. With Spike and Chloe playing back, their 'dog' defense went from bad to very good. They were like hound dogs, Spike and Chloe; it was almost as though they could smell where the player on the other team was going, and consequently, they were able to get in the way. Even though they weren't very skilled with the ball, they were able to slow the Terminators down until Rhea could get back and steal the ball. This was only the beginning of difficulties for the Terminators.

Colin could tell that Edge, fully expectant to continue dominating the Noodles, was not amused by the turn of events. His skin color had changed from a robust pink to a ruddy irritated red flush. His face was shiny with sweat, and his beady porcine eyes bored into them with an insatiate fury. Coach Bone was jumping up and down on the sideline, screaming in futility, yelling at the referee for not calling imaginary infractions. In his opinion, every time one of the Noodles touched the ball, a free kick for the Terminators should have been given. This irascible behavior must have rubbed the referee the wrong way, because the ref started to call the Terminators on questionable infractions.

Spike nailed the ball so hard it bounced off the wall, sailed through the air, and bounced down behind the Terminator's defense. Rhea, taking advantage of the situation, was in the process of surging past the defender when the Terminator tripped her up, sending her sliding onto the turf. It was questionable whether she would have gotten free, but the referee called a penalty kick, which threw Mr. Bone into another screaming fit on the sideline.

Edge, his face now beet red, was about to explode. He blurted out, "Come on! Come on!" sounding very much like an irate, squawking chicken. The referee, in an effort to quiet him, waved a yellow card in front of his nose.

A silence descended onto the field as Rhea glanced at the keeper, his arms and legs stretched out, trying to cover as much of the net as possible. She wondered where she should aim the ball, and then, with a certainty, she knew that the Keeper was not going to protect the center of the net; he was going to go right. She didn't know how she knew this; it was just there, the only option that glowed with light. She kicked the ball and scored \-- eight to two.

As she walked past Edge, she rubbed her fingernails adroitly on her shirt and blew on them. "Just luck."

The game continued.

It seemed that the harder the Terminators pressed, the louder Mr. Bone yelled, and the worse they got. The score was soon eight to six! Even though the Terminators were getting plenty of shots on Tan, he seemed to have suction cups attached to his gloves; nothing could get by him. At first he looked as surprised as Edge did, but then a mantle of quiet confidence seemed to settle over him. Nothing would be getting by him.

Had they not simply run out of time, The Noodles might have even won their first game. Nevertheless, as the final two long blasts of the whistle sounded, they celebrated again, everybody jumping up and down and then piling on the horrified Tan who tried, without success, to get away. Sergeant Peary imitated the infuriated Coach Bone by screaming hoarsely into the air, while Grandma Li went back to reading her book. Edge glowered across the field at them. Somehow, his father's fury was their fault, and they would pay for it. Colin just shrugged. Even though they still lost, it felt like they had won, and he liked how it felt.

Chapter Thirteen: Maestro

Colin knew that the euphoria of almost winning the game wouldn't last, but it was nice to sleep on the possibilities. In his dreams he saw a bewildered Edge, his hulking body squeezed into a uniform three sizes too small for him, trying to wiggle himself away from a constant deluge of soccer balls, his hands held pleadingly before him. Some bounced off his head, but most went into the goal behind him, filling it up like a nest of gigantic eggs. Then Edge, staring with horror at his arms, watched as he sprouted downy little feathers, which quickly grew into a full, brilliant coat of white chicken feathers. He began to squawk as a red set of comb and wattles grew on top of his head and below his chin. "COME ON," he squawked, his head jerking back and forth spasmodically, arms flapping in agitation and his feet scratching the artificial turf. "COME ON!" Everyone was gathered about him laughing, gripped by hysterics. Then the Chicken Edge began to chase everyone, attempting to viciously peck them. Just as Colin was wondering if Edge's spirit guardian was indeed a chicken or a rooster, Spike shook him awake.

"Come on, Grizzelda wants us downstairs for breakfast. You were dreaming again weren't you? Was it G.T.?"

"No," said Colin irritably, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "It was Edge and he was a chicken."

"Cool, wish I was there. Come on, Melissa is already downstairs with Ofelia."

"Since when did Grizzelda start calling us downstairs for breakfast?" asked Colin suspiciously, thinking maybe Spike was up to some sort of practical joke.

"That's my point. Something must be up, something unnatural or unpleasant, or both." He grabbed his throat with both hands and made a gagging sound, pulling a grotesque face to complete the look. "Remember those sandwiches?"

"You were the only one stupid enough to eat them," said Colin, not yet ready to break out of his morning grouchiness. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head.

"Hey," said Spike with feigned offense, "what did you expect me to do? Starve?"

"How did she sound? Happy, unhappy, angry, or all of the above?" Colin asked searching through a pile of clothes for his favorite pants. Since Melissa was now rooming with Ofelia, the boys had lost any need to keep their room tidy. They figured it was just compensation for having to keep the rest of the house clean, with its endless rooms, a house that seemed to be getting bigger and dirtier, which was strange considering there was hardly anybody living in it.

"Couldn't say. Her voice didn't have any emotion," said Spike.

"That can't be good," said Colin sniffing his multicolored shirt for odor before pulling it on. He picked that specific shirt because, even though she would never admit it, it was Grizzelda's favorite.

While Spike waited for him to finish dressing, he fidgeted over to the window to stare at the statue. How and by whom it was being chiseled, they hadn't a clue. Once they had stayed up all night, taking turns watching, but nothing had happened. There were no elves, gnomes, or sinister artists in capes, just the mocking black form trying to free its arms and head from the impermeable marble. They felt that once the statue was free, something bad was going to happen, something very bad. But this morning Spike was greeted by a sight far more novel than the statue.

"Wow!"

Colin, quickly pulling on the red, blue and orange sweater, joined him at the window and they gaped at the scene before them. Out on the frost-covered grass, in a semi-circle in the front yard of the house were at least twenty horse-drawn caravans. No horses were hitched up to the caravans, but they assumed this was their means of propulsion. They looked strange enough to have simply materialized out of the air, wheels solid and motionless, steam rising off their curved roofs, waiting for the day to begin. The caravans were very colorful. It was as though painters had taken their brushes and splattered dots of reds, blues and greens into a semi-circle onto the grass, and each caravan was ornately decorated with bright warm colors each edged and framed with black, gold and silver swirling lines. Some of them reminded Colin of Grandfather Thunder's tent. The peculiar shapes of the wood shingled roofs, being rounded, with little chimneys protruding from the tops, gave them the feel of a little medieval village. One caravan, at the apex of the semi-circle, caught Colin's attention. It was colored exactly like his sweater, with broad splashes of red, blue and orange. He couldn't help but wonder whose it was. Oddly enough, the two diamond- shaped windows in the front wall of each wagon made it look as if they were watching the statue.

***

Downstairs, waiting at the table with Melissa and Ofelia, was an emotionless, stony-faced Grizzelda. There was no sign of the Marcus doll. They sat in silence, avoiding eye contact with each other, as though gripped in the awkward aftermath of an unpleasant argument. (Colin and Spike knew better than to ask about the caravans outside.) Suddenly, Grizzelda's dark eyes looked up from the silver creamer she was attempting to bore a hole through, and trained them on Colin and Spike. They felt a desperate need to back out of the room, but her tractor-beam eyes held them fast. The boys felt her will force them into their seats.

"I'm so glad you have deigned to grace us with your presence," she said, a coating of thick frost causing her words to hang heavy in the air.

By the way Spike inhaled, Colin could tell he was getting ready to make some smart retort that would inevitably make trouble for him. "Don't say anything," whispered Colin, as Spike pulled up his chair.

They looked down at their plates. The eggs and sausage had been arranged into a sad face. It stared up at them, two yellow eyes and a down-turned, sausage mouth. Colin was about to pick up his fork and knife to begin when he saw the others still sitting in their chairs motionless. He put his utensils back down onto the black tablecloth.

Grizzelda nodded. "As you know," she fixed Ofelia with a withering glare, "over the last little while, we have been looking for a tutor. I have, up until this point, been," a word seemed to catch in her throat and she had to clear it, "unsuccessful. Ofelia has _graciously_ provided me with a name. This _tutor_ is the only one who has condescended to teach you. It is a temporary solution to our problem. Unfortunately," she looked as though she was about to choke, "as you most assuredly have noticed by now, this tutor does not come by himself. You are NOT in any circumstances to make yourself a bother to our _guests._ They will be gone, as soon as I can find a suitable full-time teacher. Is that clear?"

"You could always just send us to school," said Spike with feigned meekness, slouching down in his chair, prepared to duck if anything was thrown at him.

Uncharacteristically, she ignored his comment, as though she hadn't heard it. She stood up, causing her chair to scrape the floor ominously. As she was leaving the room she paused, turned and smiled. "You will never, as long as I am alive, be permitted to go to any school in this town." She looked as though she was about to cry or yell, and then she was gone.

"What's her problem?" asked Spike chewing hungrily on his food. "I mean, Principal Devonish is just a bag of bluster, mean as a coven of foul butter tarts, but nothing we can't handle, eh?"

"I think she just doesn't want us in any school that Rhea's mom wants us in," offered Colin looking over at Ofelia who avoided looking at him. She knew about the caravan, about their new tutor, and more importantly, she had somehow forced Grizzelda to agree to it. Suddenly, Ofelia seemed to be much, much more than just a housekeeper.

"What's up with the caravan outside?" asked Spike continuing to chew.

Melissa was poking at her food; she looked up as though she wanted to say something, but of course remained silent.

Ofelia continued to sit in silence, then without saying a word, got up and went to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a pitcher of orange juice in her hand. She smiled offering it to them. Her hand shook as she poured Colin a glass, spilling a little. She let out a tiny cry of distress, sitting down.

"Are you all right, Ofelia?" he asked.

She nodded and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm fine," she said smiling. "You know, it takes a lot of strength to stand up to your aunt. She is a very, very, powerful woman."

"Well, how did you do it?" asked Spike a little too enthusiastically. "I mean if I knew how, then maybe I could do it too. It'd be great!"

Melissa glanced at her brother disapprovingly.

"She means well. There is a part of her that just wants to protect you," said Ofelia.

"It's the other part that I'm nervous about," responded Spike.

"Protect us from what?" asked Colin. "I know the Nixes can be a problem, but..."

"You have no idea how dangerous they are," said Ofelia intensely, "and there are other threats. That's why I had to get hold of the only person that can train you. Remember, I told you that I traveled with a circus for many years?" She nodded toward the front door. "It's here in the front yard."

"Yeah, but there are no animals! Isn't a circus supposed to have animals?" said Spike plaintively.

"Maestro doesn't like using animals. He believes that the creations of the mind are much more -- entertaining," said Ofelia rising out of her seat, and instead of looking shaky, she seemed to have been fortified by her talk.

"Maestro will be the one teaching us?" asked Colin.

Ofelia nodded.

"What's its name, I mean the circus?" said Spike. "All circuses have to have a name don't they?"

Ofelia's eyes seemed to get rounder, brighter as she nodded her head. Oh, they have a name. They are _The Circus of the Moon_."

***

Maestro was waiting for them in the library. It was difficult to tell that he was there at all, but he made a slight movement and the gray cloak he was wearing shifted against the background of books, revealing him. It was impossible to see what he looked like because his hood was pulled up over his head. With graceful fluidity, his fingers moved over the head of the bust on the mantle he was standing beside, seeing the face with his fingers.

They could tell Ofelia was excited because the distance that separated the two evaporated as she glided across the floor. Colin thought that she was going to throw herself at Maestro, but at the last second she came to an abrupt stop, placed her hands together in front of her and bowed reverently to the tall figure.

Maestro returned the bow.

Ofelia whispered something in a low sonorous language that they couldn't understand.

The black emptiness within the cowl turned to regard them. A thin hand flicked and three chairs at the long study table moved out by themselves.

"Please, sit. Let us not waste time. Time is too precious. Let us begin," said Maestro, his voice, rich and pleasant. It had the calming effect of a gentle zephyr blowing on a warm summer night.

They sat down.

Maestro nodded at Ofelia, who bowed again and left.

The chairs slid in close to the table, holding them captive. Spike had his back to Maestro so wasn't able to keep him in view all the time. Colin, across the table from Spike, watched their tutor fixedly. He had a driving urge to see within the dark interior of the hood, to explore the features there. People didn't hide things unless they had a very good reason.

"Don't worry; at any time during our instruction, you can leave. I will hold no one against his or her will. But there is something you should know, and that is," he paused so as to let the importance of what he was about to say sink in, "learning can be dangerous."

"Dangerous? Right," said Spike chuckling, feeling a bit abandoned when Colin didn't join in.

"Yes, my _furry_ friend. Don't look surprised; I see your guardian spirits around you, within you, even as we speak. And while we're speaking about you and your spirit guardians, I also know that your number isn't complete," said Maestro pensively.

"Complete?" asked Colin who instinctively knew that Maestro was right. Their number _was_ off. There should be another person at the table. "Rhea?" He hadn't meant to say her name out loud.

"Yes, yes, you feel it too, that's good. The Phoenix should be here. There are others too, but for now, just four. Oh, well, we'll do our best without her, but be sure she is here the next time we meet. Now, as I was saying, learning can be dangerous. Now, why is that?"

Melissa went to reach for her pad of paper that she kept to communicate with, when Maestro held up his hand to stop her.

"I should have expected nothing short of brilliance from you, Melissa, just as I expected from Ofelia. Yes, you are absolutely right. Learning can be dangerous because once you have it you are responsible for what you do with it."

Both Colin and Spike's mouths were hanging open. Maestro had somehow read Melissa's mind! Could he do the same, was he doing the same, with them?

"No, lads, I cannot read minds, I just anticipate your answers. You see, Ofelia contacted me a few months ago, and has been reporting to me frequently. Your education has been sorely neglected. Now, that being said, shall we begin?

You have special abilities, correct? The ability to _see_ things, to use your senses, to change things? Correct? Well, that's just the beginning," he said pausing, "you are the ones who are _normal_ , the rest of the world is just blind." With this Maestro unexpectedly, thin hands fluttering up to his hood, removed it to expose his head. Colin tried not to gasp, but joined Spike and Melissa as they did.

He had a large shaggy main of hoary hair, obscuring his horribly scarred face, which looked as though it had been raked by enormous claws. Two running lines, white and thick with scar tissue, stood out, beginning at his forehead, running over his eyes and ending at his chin. The air had suddenly gone cold in their lungs. Maestro was blind. In the place where his eyes should have been were two black pits. He quickly replaced the hood.

"As I was saying, knowledge can be dangerous."

"You're blind!" exclaimed Spike.

"Quite so," said Maestro, a lilt of good humor in his voice. "I'm as blind as a bat, which is to say I can see better than anyone here."

Melissa furiously scribbled something on her note pad. Again, Maestro held up a hand to stop her.

Colin's mind opened up as pieces of a puzzle began locking into place. Maestro's way of stopping people with his hands--the way he moved, how he talked--was exactly like Grandfather Thunder, but obviously he wasn't Grandfather Thunder, so why the similarities?

"First things first." He floated behind Melissa, placed his hands on Melissa's head, said something in the same strange language Ofelia had greeted him with and then removed them.

Melissa's eyes went wide, and her hands began fluttering in front of her, taking on a number of various halting positions and forms. She was saying something, speaking with her hands. Maestro's hands answered her.

"What did you do?" asked Spike aghast.

"I just taught your sister how to use sign language; it's a site better than having to write everything down."

Melissa was grinning gratefully, just like the first time she discovered she could play music.

"Wow, this learning is going to be easier than I thought!" said Spike expectantly.

"Colin, what do you think?" asked Maestro. "Do you think learning is going to be easy?"

Colin, trying to absorb everything, squinted cautiously, and shook his head slowly. "No, we don't understand what she is saying, so we have to learn the language."

"But can't you just put your hands on our head and give it to us, you know, the ability to understand?" blurted out Spike.

Maestro shook his head. "I can't teach you, or _give_ you anything that you do not already have. Your sister knew how to do this; her years of frustration have prepared her for it. I just had to bring it to the surface. Also, she was ready to use it. This is the part about great responsibility. What if you had the ability to turn anything into food? Right now, what would you do?"

Spike looked at the table excitedly. "I'd turn this table into chocolate!"

"Exactly! You would react without thinking, without knowing that by turning the table into chocolate, the wood would have to go somewhere, and the chocolate would have to come from somewhere. What would you think if a little girl on the other side of the world were just biting into her chocolate birthday cake when it turned into wood?"

"I would think it was funny?" said Spike unsure.

Maestro shook his head. "This is my point. With knowledge comes great responsibility."

"What creature blinded you?" asked Colin softly, unable to restrain himself from asking the question that had been lurking behind his lips.

"My guardian spirit," said Maestro letting the profound weight of his words settle on them. "You didn't think that a guardian spirit, who was supposed to protect you, could hurt you? This is what I mean by learning, by knowledge being dangerous."

Colin's mind was reeling. Grandfather Thunder had once told about how guardian spirits didn't like to be fooled, how they took their job very seriously, how they wouldn't react violently towards their charge unless....

"...Unless I was tampering with the purpose of the guardian spirit," finished Maestro, the dark contents of the topic focusing directly on him.

"I wish you would stop doing that, reading our thoughts," complained Spike squirming in the chair.

They were all caught between wanting to get out of the room and being riveted by fascination to their seats.

Colin swallowed hard. His stomach churned. He had just been thinking about how he could get Sergeant Peary to do things.

"No, I'm not reading your minds. There are only a certain number of things someone in your position, with your character traits, could say. In short, I'm guessing. We're talking about this because you are of the age when it might become too tempting; you might try to get your guardian spirit to do something it isn't empowered to do."

"But I can see things, change things. Is that dangerous too?" asked Colin.

"Possibly, but not anything like tampering with your guardian spirit. When I made the chairs move out and in, I was just playing with laws that already exist. I wasn't breaking them. When you _make_ something depart from its purpose, there is a price to pay; that too, is part of the law."

"This is magic, right?" asked Spike excitedly. "I always wanted to do magic!"

"If I said I was using magic, it would be erroneous. Magic is the twisting away from its purpose, something separate, something counterfeit. When something is used _within_ its law, its purpose, it's all right. You're just tapping into the laws that exist. Magic occurs when you break the rules, but rules cannot be broken without consequences," said Maestro gravely.

"Like guardian spirits?" commented Colin.

"Like guardian spirits. You see you can't just go about using power, abusing responsibility, without dealing with the consequences. Every action has a reaction. My mistake was being young and not having a teacher. The problem was," and here he turned to face Spike, "I didn't think, I just reacted. My guardian spirit took my eyes. The most important lesson is to never use something it was not designed for. Never use magic!"

Melissa's hands were flying in front of her, her eyes wide and full of emotion. After she was done, Maestro nodded.

"True, very true. You are very perceptive. By taking my sight I was taught how to see. Just as you cannot talk, the sounds, the notes, you can create are exquisite. It is the balance, the harmony of how things truly are. It's when you get people trying to twist those laws that things go terribly wrong."

"Like Zuhayer Horwood, and this house," said Colin feeling the urge to stand up.

"Yes, like Zuhayer, but not the house. The house is a manifestation of the power. He just shaped, or twisted it, with magic--especially the broken tower--into a form he could best understand. Now, there is something I'd like to show you." Maestro reached into his cloak and pulled out three large, clear marbles. He rolled them down the length of the table, one coming to rest by each of them.

Colin tentatively picked up his and stared into the clear limpid space. He noticed how similar to a drop of water it looked, except that the water in the marble was glass complete with little air bubbles. Almost immediately, he began to fall into the marble, swimming, arms and legs kicking vigorously, unaware of where he was going, but instinctively knowing his destination was important. Colin opened his eyes and discovered he was floating above a peculiar, solitary scene.

Below him, two young boys were playing in the hull of an old abandoned fishing boat. There were seagulls circling in the air, waiting hopefully for the opportune appearance of some morsel of food. A potent, fresh, briny smell punctuated the air. Colin recognized one of the boys, just barely. The two were about the same size. The features of one of the boys were sharper, more defined, giving him the appearance of being arrogant. Even in youth, Zuhayer Bombast Horwood demanded attention, insisted on being in charge, the leader. The other boy was clearly struggling against the other's will, but not wanting to argue he was playing along. A third boy appeared, walking up to them. He was a couple of years older, and had his long hair tied back in a braid. He just stood in front of them, watching, waiting. He said something and the one boy got up and left Zuhayer. The last image Colin had before things began to swirl again was of Zuhayer glaring hatefully after them, searing their backs with his eyes.

The second set of images was of the same two boys again, but this time they were older, in their adolescent years. Zuhayer and the other boy, who Colin still couldn't place, were standing on a field of white broken ice, a jigsaw of pieces separated by dangerous lines of blue water. They were running and jumping across the open water from one ice chunk to the next. They were moving towards the open blue expanse of the sea and into extreme danger. The cold wind funneled down on them trying to push them back, but Zuhayer forged forward, taunting the other youth to follow him. Then Zuhayer was gone, slipped down into one of the blue cracks.

Bursting out of the air, making it sizzle with extreme heat, a dragon, its iridescent scales reflecting the sun's light, almost blinded Colin. The dragon, from flaring nostrils to whip-like tail, was magnificent. It undulated through the air like a snake, fangs and claws bared, eyes burning white hot. Colin had never seen a dragon, only representations of them. The dragon seemed to be tied to the unnamed youth by some invisible string, like a kite. The boy gave a tug on the string and the dragon swooped down and pulled Zuhayer out of the water, saving him. There were many things Colin could have been focusing on at the time--the rescue, the cold, the dragon--but all he could see were Zuhayer's eyes and the mocking triumph in them. Colin watched in horror as the dragon turned on the youth and, with a casual flick, dragged its spiny tail over the youth's face, blinding him.

Colin, along with Spike and Melissa, were back in the library, all three of them having shared the same vision, now staring wordlessly at Maestro. He was standing there, his face once again hidden in the dark recess of his hood.

"You're the boy?" asked Colin knowing it. Suddenly he was grateful for having the temporary guardian spirit of Sergeant Peary, yet he shivered at what the Wind might be able to do to him.

"Wait a second," said Spike, his face a pasty shade of white, "aren't guardian spirits supposed to protect you?" He was thinking about all the nasty things his coyote could possibly do to him.

"If you let them do their job," said Maestro slowly, making sure his words were heard. "But, if you force them to do something they don't want to do, well, you have to pay the price, and that price the guardian decides."

Melissa's hands were fluttering pointedly.

Maestro shook his head and moved his own hands in response. "No, my guardian spirit wasn't being mean, or vicious, or betraying me, he was just giving me a lesson."

"Some lesson! I hope your lessons aren't going to be like that," said Spike wryly, then became deathly silent when Maestro didn't respond right away.

"No, I should have seen Zuhayer for who he was. He tricked me into using my spirit guardian to rescue him. I should have been thinking. He had his own guardian. He was in no real danger, he just wanted to see what would happen if we tried to turn a guardian spirit to some purpose. I was the experiment. I trust my first lesson has made a point?"

Spike nodded emphatically. Melissa gave a definite sign with her hand, but Colin couldn't hold back anymore.

"Why do I have Sergeant Peary and another guardian spirit?"

"Good question. Sergeant Peary is on special assignment. Your guardian, as you found out the other night, is very temperamental, and very powerful. Jim's idea was to have Sergeant Peary break you in until you learn about your real guardian. You see, while the spirit guardian manifests itself externally, it is also part of who you are. You most likely have felt it moving within you."

"Not only that, but on Halloween we actually became our spirit animals, except Melissa who was dressed like a witch," blurted out Spike excitedly.

Maestro removed his hood and, again, stared discerningly at them with black, sunken sockets. "How interesting, how very interesting," he whispered. "That should not have been possible. And what was the price for such magic, because magic it was."

"We lost our clothes when we turned back into ourselves, but Sergeant Peary said it was all right," said Spike.

"He did, did he," commented Maestro tightly. "You're lucky you got off so lightly. I'll have to have a chat with our Sergeant."

"It's not his fault," said Colin not wanting to get the ghost into trouble. "I mean we didn't have to go along. We chose to."

"So, what you are saying is that you accept responsibility for your actions?"

"Yeah, sort of, I guess so."

"Colin, you must not use your true guardian until you learn more about yourself. If you do, you could die. Now, any more questions? No? Very good, I believe this lesson is over. I trust you will think hard about what you've learned today."

The chairs slid out from the table and when they looked up, Maestro was gone.

Chapter Fourteen: The Clown Master

Outside, the heat from the sun was melting the patches of frost, converting them into a diaphanous mist that rose into the air; for a moment, the caravans seemed as though they were breathing. Throughout the encampment, people moved sluggishly in the waking patterns of the dawn. They dressed in vivid colors, as though a host of rainbows had willed themselves into human form. The pungent, but pleas-ant, odor of an outdoor cook fire wafted into the air. A tall, muscular man, with long, dark, curly hair, exited his caravan and stopped on the top stair to stretch and yawn. His pants were bright red and he wore a vest of colorful patches. Looking composed, with the authority that comes from being in charge, he glanced around the grounds. He noticed the children standing on the steps of Horwood House and gave them a friendly wave.

A swell of longing, of nostalgia for Pansy Patch overtook Colin; the welcome "feel" was so like the park, but multiplied many times over. He knew that he belonged here, was absorbed into the color, the fabric of the camp. A beautiful voice, in a strange, haunting dialect, lilted across the yard in song.

"Look! Over, there!" said Spike excitedly, pointing at what appeared to be Silverberry just disappearing behind one of the caravans. "It's her!" Unable to restrain himself he bounded down the steps after her.

Colin wanted to join him, but he couldn't. Not yet. The man in the patchwork vest and red pants was making his way toward the house, a large smile on his face. As he walked up to Colin and Melissa, he extended his hand and in turn they shook it, then he stood back seeming to appraise them. Even in the low light of the morning, the man's eyes danced; there was something infectious about him, something that made you instinctively want to laugh, to dance.

"Welcome to The Circus of the Moon. Maestro and Ofelia have told me all about you. You must be Colin and Melissa."

The two of them nodded their heads in unison.

"My name is Frederick. I'm the Clown Master. Let's see now, you may call me -- Frederick!" He laughed at his small joke, then, taking hold of their hands and pulling them down the steps, he said, "Come, eat with us."

"We already had breakfast, thanks," said Colin not wanting to impose, but already he was starting to feel hungry again.

"No, no, you _must_ eat with us! If you're going to be part of the family, part of the show, you must learn all about us, learn our secrets! Besides, Holdfast will have a fit; he's expecting you."

As they moved through the caravans, Colin wondered if this was just a continuation of Maestro's lesson. From the way the morning had started, it was going to be anything but a normal day; but then again, if anyone had asked him what normal was, he couldn't have answered. Maybe they would become clowns too. Somehow he couldn't impose the typical white-faced, red-nosed image of a clown onto Frederick's strong features. He looked more like an acrobat or a strong man, but then, he had never seen The Circus of The Moon perform, so he didn't know what to expect. Once, he and Spike had seen a circus, sneaked in through the entertainer's exit, but they were intensely disappointed. The peculiar smells, the poor tired elephants and raggedy bears, and the cursing, malcontent clowns had left them with a bad taste in their mouths. Colin didn't have that feeling now. What curled into the air was expectant and exciting, full of something mysterious. They stepped behind Maestros' big caravan. A big iron pot hung over a hot fire ringed with stones. Standing over the pot, stirring with a spoon the size of a paddle, was a gigantic bearded man with a wild mane of hair. His eyes glinted like black beetles. His beard, braided into several plaits, hid his massive neck, but did not hide the big grin he gave them as they approached.

Frederick picked up a flat round of bread from a table set for the meal and began chewing on it. He offered Colin and Melissa a piece, but they shyly declined.

"That's Holdfast," said Frederick nodding at the gigantic man. "He's also a clown."

"Are all clowns so big?" asked Colin.

Frederick must have swallowed the bread he was chewing on the wrong way, because he began choking on it. In a couple of massive steps, the sizable Holdfast stepped up to Frederick and smacked him on the back, felling Frederick to the ground. Groaning, he lifted himself up to his knees. He wasn't choking anymore, but tears of laughter were still streaming down his face.

"Choking on food isn't a laughing matter, little man!" boomed Holdfast. "A skinny little fellow like you needs all the nourishment he can gather!"

"No, no, it's not that. My friend here thinks all our clowns are big."

Holdfast started to laugh, his deep, bass voice reverberating into the ground. "If I may be so bold, what are your names? This miscreant has the problem of not introducing people properly."

"Colin, my name is Colin, and this is Melissa."

Laughter melted from the big man's face, replaced with a sober nod. "Two very good names. And Colin is a good name for a clown! Come, come have some of my ratatouille, just the way Mama used to make it!"

"A clown? I'm going to be a clown?" asked Colin.

"The best in the world," answered Frederick, eating his food with gusto.

With wooden bowls of steaming vegetable stew in their hands, they watched as others slowly joined the mix around the fire. Before long, a large woman, dressed in a bright pink outfit, scarf flowing out behind, strode up dramatic-ally to Frederick. Everything about her was pink, from her fuchsia lipstick, all the way down to her baby-pink sweat socks and hot pink canvas running shoes, everything except her dark brown skin and hair. She gave Colin and Melissa a good-natured smile before turning seriously on Frederick, who was wolfing down the last of his stew.

"Has he announced it yet? Has he given us our outline yet?" she asked anxiously. Colin thought from the way Frederick was glancing at her over the rim of his bowl that she was making more of it than she needed to. Without waiting for a reply, she twirled and faced Holdfast, placing her hands on her ample hips and fixing him with a pair of wide, sensuous eyes. "What do you think?" she asked about her outfit

"You must be very careful," whispered Frederick into their ears. "If Magenta ever asks you this question, you must give the right answer. 'What do you think?' can be a very tricky phrase. Pay attention to how the master handles this."

Holdfast politely handed her a bowl of stew and scratched a spot under his beard. "I believe your outfit accentuates your slim, svelte body in a complimentary manner." He gave them a covert wink. "It is neither over nor understated. It is simply your effervescent self."

"Why, thank you," beamed Magenta. "Now, who, pray tell, are our guests?"

Colin guessed her weight to be well over two hundred pounds, but none of it was fat. She was just a large woman, an immensely strong, large woman.

Frederick made deft motions with his hands speaking in sign language, much like Maestro had, then followed it up with verbal introductions.

Magenta responded in kind, her pink-gloved hands fluttering in the air. "It's nice to meet you. Maestro says you'll be working with us. It'll be a pleasure!" she said bending over and giving each of them a bone-crushing hug. Then Magenta was off talking gregariously to the other performers around the fire.

"She seems like a nice person," said Colin, "but she nearly broke my ribs!"

"She is a nice person, and I think you'll see that the art of hugging has been perfected here. It's the circus way," said Frederick. "Just remember that she's a tad sensitive about her weight, that's all. Holdfast, you're a marked man, you know that, don't you."

Holdfast snorted and went back to doling out more bowls of ratatouille at a faster pace, trying to ignore the Clown Master and the furtive glances Magenta was casting his way. Colin was amazed at the colorful clothes worn by the troupe. He was beginning to feel distinctly at home. In fact, you only stood out if you were wearing something bland. He thought of this when he saw Ofelia, her gray dress and blouse immediately attracting his attention. He wondered why she had ever left the circus. From what he had seen, it was filled with an eclectic group of fascinating people.

"Colin!" shouted Rhea, her red hair flaming with vitality as she pushed through the crowd. She was breathing excitedly. "You won't believe what happened! Last night this strange fellow in a gray cloak showed up at our house and asked to talk to mom. At first I thought she was going to call the police, but she let him in. I'm going to be part of the circus! Isn't that exciting? I don't have to go to school!"

"I thought you liked school," said Colin.

"I do, but not Principal Devonish," she said making a sour face. "All the teachers are so beaten down, that they're afraid to try anything new. Now, this," she said surveying the mill of people, "now this is exciting!"

Holdfast thrust a bowl at her.

Rhea rejected it not looking, but he kept pushing it at her insistently. At first with irritation, then when she saw the vastness of Holdfast, with stupefaction, she meekly accepted the bowl.

"It's a good thing you took it," commented Frederick, "he takes his cooking very personally. Luckily he only cooks once a week."

"I heard that, little man!" barked Holdfast his burly back to them.

Spike slipped in from behind them looking dejected. Immediately a bowl was shoved into his hands.

"What's the matter, couldn't find Silverberry?" asked Colin.

He shook his head spooning the food into his mouth hungrily. "No, it was just someone that looked like her. Hello," said Spike who then noticed Rhea. "You should see our tutor. Is he ever crazy looking. He grew up with Zuhayer Horwood and Grandfather Thunder...." He paused to chew his food and swallow, a particular thought occurring to him, "He must be ancient!"

On the other side of the fire, the impromptu circle of entertainers parted, revealing the tall, gray-cloaked form of Maestro. Ofelia was standing beside him. For the first time, he noticed how similar they were. They both had an aura of calm self-containment, and intense focus. The restless mass of energy that was the performers immediately settled--all eyes on Maestro. The general rumble of ambient conversation was replaced by silence, full, expectant silence. His hands flicked up and his hood fell off. Rhea gave a little gasp. She had not known he was blind. Maestro began:

"I had a dream. In my dream, I saw the moon and the sun floating in the sky. They floated around the earth, and as they did, the angels sang."

He paused, and in the pause everybody looked up into the sky. It was as though they were looking at exactly what Maestro was describing. Suddenly, Colin saw two large floating orbs and around them flew a choir of angels. Light glinted off the iridescent sparkles on their white wings. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Melissa's lips were moving, silently forming the sounds that were coming from the angels. She had gone into one of her musical trances.

Maestro, with the singing in the background, continued: "The people on the earth, beneath the sun and moon, played."

A group of people appeared around them, capering, full of smiles and the joy of play. They glanced at Colin as they wafted by him, their breath brushing his skin. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Then a dark stranger appeared, and taught them how to play different games--games where some were included, some were excluded, and some were ridiculed, games that brought strife and hardship."

A dark sinister man with a long cruel mustache seemed to rise out of the ground and with him a number of-–Nixes! Colin shifted uncomfortably, ready to flee; his stomach started to roil, and he thought of The Wind. The dark man was much like the youthful Zuhayer Horwood. Then a strong hand rested on Colin's shoulder and the calming voice of Frederick slipped into his ear. "It's all right; they're just dream images, not the real thing." Colin watched in horror, as the Shadow Nixes attached themselves to the people, twisting their behavior.

Maestro's rich voice continued: "The ones who played the dark games became, themselves, dark, without happiness, joy was lost, and still the angels sang, but their song was as a song far, far away."

Colin noticed how the Shadow Nixes were slowly working their way into people, superimposing themselves on top of them, becoming them.

"If allowed to continue, a new, dreadful order would have been established, but the moon had pity on them." Colin looked up at the moon hopefully, and saw silvery people descending from the moon. Some began to swing in the air on trapezes and ropes while others bounced down on what appeared to be enormously long elastic cords. The effect was profound and marvelous. The Shadow Nixes couldn't remain attached to the people and broke away. Intent on joining the newcomers, the freed people rose into the air bouncing around in circles, while those in the center, the ones attached to the moon, swung and flew through the air being caught and in turn, catching each other, creating amazing patterns. Maestro's voice filled the air.

"For a while the people were happy again, but the dwellers from the moon had to return home, and when they did, the shadows came back, but instead of shadows, the dark ones wore clothes of deception. They seemed like creatures of light."

Colin dared not breathe. Although the new beings were full of light and color, they were still imitations, pale imitations, of what the people had originally been. Colin could see, shifting like a black stain just beneath the color, the true essence of the Shadow Nixes. But they were marching, still organizing everything into a world of harshness.

"Having failed to strengthen the people, the moon wept and the sun sighed. In ribbons of light, the dwellers in the sun came to the earth, and on each ribbon of light twisted and twirled the hope of the future."

On yellow glowing ribbons, the next series of wondrous creatures, descended. Colin gazed on in amazement, wondering how they kept from simply losing control and falling to the ground. Once on the ground the people of the sun forced the shadows out of the people. The angelic chorus circling the sun dropped closer and closer to the earth, becoming magnified in voice and tone. Colin felt the vitality, the thrumming energy that the sun people brought. He noticed that Spike was having a difficult time restraining himself from joining them, and the only reason he did not was because Holdfast was virtually holding him back with a massive arm. The sun people taught everyone how to jump and fly through the air. The ground had changed, becoming a gigantic springboard, so that people could bounce and soar into the air. Colin watched with amazement as people flew, and were caught. Then, as abruptly as they had come, the sun people climbed back up to the sun, which opened to receive them, and they were gone. The vision ended.

Maestro nodded, turned, and, followed by Ofelia, left, the vision unfinished.

"Wow, that was awesome!" gasped Spike, his mouth hanging open. "What was that?"

"But it's not finished!" gasped Colin. He had the feeling that Zuhayer Horwood was just going to come back in a different form, stronger than ever, and make the lives of the people around him more miserable.

"That, my friend," said Frederick, "was the main plot of our next performance! And yes, it is unfinished."

"I didn't see any clowns," pointed out Spike.

It was true. Nowhere in the entire vision did they see any clowns.

Frederick laughed, his voice full and rich, "Of course not, Maestro is responsible for the main direction of the plot!" Colin felt Frederick's muscular arm fall around his neck, as he addressed the four of them. "We are responsible for the subplot and the end! How this story ends depends on us."

Melissa's hands nimbly signed a question.

Frederick nodded. "Absolutely, those were dream images of Shadow Nixes."

"Wait a second," cut in Spike. "You mean to say, the live performance involves Shadow Nixes possessing performers? Isn't that dangerous?"

Frederick pensively tapped his chin. "I suppose it is, but so is falling from the sun or the moon, except nobody does. You see those angels that sing, are also the safety crew. If anyone is in real danger, they swoop in and fix it."

"How?" asked Rhea. "How do they fix it?"

"You know, I don't know. They've never told me how. I see you lack confidence, but that will change, after you're trained. Trust me, after you are fully trained, you won't have to depend on your guardian spirits to chase away the Shadow Nixes all the time.

"But what do we do?" asked Colin. "What is the subplot?" He was overwhelmed. No matter which way he looked at it they were going to have to confront Zuhayer Horwood. He knew it!

Frederick tilted his nose up into the air, scenting something, and then turned his face to the partially completed statue and jerked his thumb at it. "Ah, yes, it includes him," and then he turned back to them, "and it includes you four, and of course Holdfast, Magenta and myself!"

Colin stared at the statue. The thought of having to create a subplot that involved Zuhayer Horwood did not particularly thrill him. If the Nixes were somehow real, did that mean that Zuhayer Horwood was going to come alive also?

"But isn't he dead?" whispered Colin.

"Speak up!" shouted Holdfast who had ambled over to them. "Can't hear you! Angel voices still rattling around in my head!"

"Isn't Zuhayer Horwood dead?" said Colin again, this time so loud that a number of heads turned and stared at him. He felt like shrinking away.

"Dead? What's dead?" barked Holdfast. "Nobody ever dies; we just go from being here to being there. It's just that some of us have a problem with leaving here, like him." He motioned with distaste to the statue. "Some people never grow up!"

Magenta had joined them and was scolding Holdfast with a disapproving look. "You don't have to be so _direct_ about it. The young ones are sensitive to this sort of stuff."

"You mean the stuff about Maestro and G.T. and Horwood being friends? And if Horwood died of old age, then Maestro and G.T., by my calculations, should be dead also?" said Colin more forcefully than he had to. He didn't like being condescended to.

Magenta, a bit confused by Colin's sudden onslaught, paused, waiting for help from the Clown Master.

Frederick took a deep breath. "I see Maestro has started his lessons. Who is G.T?"

"Grandfather Thunder."

"Oh, Jim! Well," he motioned again to the statue, "everything is tied up with him, except the part about being dead. People like us don't age as naturally as others, unless we start twisting things, like Zuhayer did."

"How old are you?" asked Rhea.

Frederick shrugged. "I don't really know. I stopped counting years ago."

"So, we're going to live until we're really old, like Maestro or G.T.?" asked Spike enthusiastically.

"Yes," answered Frederick, "most likely."

Rhea had been absorbing everything up until this point. "Yes, but why include the Nixes and Horwood in the performance. Maestro wants you to do this right?"

Frederick nodded gravely. "Yes, he does. You see, there is nothing we can do to stop him from coming back. It's going to happen. Your aunt, or more importantly, what's inside your aunt, is going to bring him back whether we want her to or not. We just have to design a way to send him to where he needs to be. That's why we're here. That's why Ofelia summoned us."

"That's going to be dangerous," said Spike with a little too much eager anticipation, one foot to the other.

"Absolutely," rumbled Holdfast, "anything we do in The Circus of the Moon is dangerous, but we try to minimize the risk by being trained and prepared."

"But we're neither," countered Colin. "Why don't we just stop Aunt Grizzelda from bringing him back? Wouldn't that be a lot easier?"

"Yes, it would," said Frederick thoughtfully, "but it would be wrong. Everybody has the right to do what they want. It would be a very bad thing if we stopped her, if you stopped her."

"Listen sweetie," said Magenta surrounding Colin in a big cloud of comforting pink. "If we tried this performance without you four, well, I don't know what would happen, but one thing is for sure, we would fail. You all are instrumental in sending Zuhayer packing. You've got to trust us, explicitly. Do you think you can do that?"

"I think so," said Colin still not sure why or how Grizzelda was going to bring Zuhayer back.

"So, are you ready for your training? Maestro has told me to expect some very apt students," said Frederick yawning and stretching out his arms.

***

Training wasn't anything like they expected. Spike was immediately disappointed when he saw the trampoline net being set up along with the trapeze and support ropes. They watched with some envy, as some of the troupe began their practice. It looked so easy, so freeing. He had expected to be immediately swinging through the air, but instead was told to wait for Holdfast, who was going to be their first instructor.

"Ahem," said Holdfast coming up behind them, clearing his deep voice. "May I have your attention?"

"Hold on, hold on," chirped Magenta fulsomely bustling up to them and pointing at Melissa. "Maestro wants her for a cherub." She stroked Melissa's hair with a big hand. "You lucky girl. Unfortunately, because of our numbers, or lack of numbers, most of the angels are going to have to be dummies, but Ofelia has just told me you can sing?"

Melissa nodded excitedly full with the prospect of being able to fly.

"That's wonderful. You'll be working with Ofelia," said Magenta ushering her away in a mother-hen fashion.

"Why can't we be cherubs too?" complained Spike wistfully. "They get to fly!"

"Because," responded Holdfast, soberly poking a big finger gently into Spike's chest, almost knocking him over, "you don't have it in you. But what you do have in you is the capacity to make people feel."

"Feel?" protested Spike. "I thought clowns were supposed to make people laugh!"

Holdfast rolled his eyes toward the heavens in an appeal for divine guidance, and when none came he took a deep breath and began his lesson. It was a slow, smooth routine that began with him holding his old drab jacket, full of moth holes, in front of him. He regarded it sensitively, rotating it so that he could see all sides. Then he tenderly folded it into a small pillow shape, sniffed it, and placed it to his big bearded cheek, and began to waltz slowly in a circle, as though embraced by a loving companion. Rhea and Colin couldn't help but laugh. At the sound of the laughter, Holdfast came out of his routine and flicked open the coat. His eyes were sparkling.

"Why did you laugh?" he demanded cheerfully.

"Because it was funny?" offered Rhea.

"Why was it funny?" Holdfast was looking directly at Spike. "There was no white face, no painted nose, no outlandish clothing, no big shoes, no flower that squirts water, none of that. So, why was it funny?"

"We never expected you to do anything like that with the coat," said Colin.

"Exactly!" said Holdfast excitedly. "This old thing is just a hole-infested jacket, but again, what was funny?"

Spike's forehead was furrowed with more thought than Colin had ever seen. Then, his entire face illuminated. The furrows disappeared. "It was funny because who would've thought a big guy like you would fall in love with a stupid old jacket."

"Exactly! To make something funny, truly funny, you have to establish a relationship between you, the audience and the props that you use. Things that can be deeply tragic can also be deeply funny. Now hold on just one minute, while I get your props." Holdfast bustled away to his own elaborately decorated caravan, and stooped to get inside. After a few moments of rustling about, which made the entire caravan sway back and forth with his weight, he returned holding a black felt box in his hands. He extended it to them as though he was presenting a gift. "Go ahead, stick your hand in and pull something out."

Colin noticed that there was a hole in the top of the box. He looked apprehensively at Rhea and Spike who seemed unwilling to be first, so he slipped his hand into the dark hole. There were a number of objects within the box, none of which felt familiar. He fumbled around, feeling each of them before his fingers wrapped around something familiar. It made his hand tingle and left him with the impression that the item had some form of consciousness, although when he pulled it out of the box, it was just an orange.

Spike pulled out a toothbrush, and Rhea drew out a rose that kept changing colors, sometimes pink, sometimes blood red, sometimes blue. Both Colin and Spike stared at her with envy, wondering what an orange and a toothbrush had to do with being a clown or developing relationships for that matter.

"I know what you're thinking, but what you need to do now is to use those skills that you've been developing, you're ability to see beyond the superficial. Hold your prop in front of you and _look,_ really _look_.

Colin held the orange up to his nose, turning it with his fingers, examining it. It seemed like a normal orange, nothing special about it. Then, exactly like the water on the glass, he was falling into the detail of the orange, becoming smaller and smaller. His world began to fill with the pungent, cleansing odor of citrus--of possibilities. In this world of floating citrus scented clouds, he saw a boy holding the orange like it was the Holy Grail, a sacred object. The boy talked to it, rolled it, took it for walks like a pet. He witnessed him peeling it, savoring it, and dancing about with it perched precariously on his head. Ultimately he divided it and shared it, little tiny bites with people who appeared out of the mist like clouds. But as each person was about to take a bite, their little slices became whole, entire oranges. The effervescent humor of it bubbled up into his nostrils and spouted in contagious laughter. He had never known an orange could create such humor. Then he was back, staring at the orange he held in his hand, amazed at its pure simplicity. He would never be able to look at an orange in the same way ever again.

Spike was staring with terror at his toothbrush, while Rhea was on her knees crying. Their experiences seemed to have been somewhat different than his.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?" asked Colin extending a hand to touch Rhea on her shoulder.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, her red eyes pleading with Holdfast, who was nodding sympathetically, for some sort of explanation. "I didn't know things that are so beautiful could be so sad."

"Yeah, or something so boring could turn into a nightmare!" said Spike thrusting his toothbrush back at Holdfast wanting to be rid of it. "It was everywhere. It wouldn't leave me alone. It kept chasing me, trying to clean everything. Tell me that clowns don't get chased by giant toothbrushes, please?"

Holdfast shrugged. "Did people laugh?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Life can be sad, embarrassing, joyful, and in all of these things there is the potential for humor." He focused on Rhea and explained, "When people are made to be sad, they appreciate the things that make them happy many times more than a red nose or a flower that squirts water. Our job is to make people laugh, if only for a moment... of course in a tasteful manner."

Holdfast touched a little flower that had appeared on the lapel of his old coat. Water shot out of it in a stream, hit Colin, Spike and Rhea directly in the faces, soaking all three of them, reducing them to rolling balls of laughter on the grass.

"However, in the right context," laughed Holdfast, his big, booming voice causing the air to vibrate, "flowers squirting water can still be pretty funny!"

Chapter Fifteen: The Debate

Spike, Rhea, and Colin were kept busy between playing soccer, attending Maestro's lessons, and training to become clowns, but when Grizzelda announced that she was running for Mayor, things got even busier. The boys and Melissa were, of course, expected to run their aunt's campaign headquarters. One of the factors that did not bode well for her was that, other than Mr. Blandish and the owners of the funeral home, support in the hierarchy of the town was rather thin. This didn't do anything to ease Grizzelda's natural impatience with many things, and her anger with everything else. If she had been able to be honest with herself, even for one minute, she would have realized that she craved acceptance, needed it as much as the air she breathed. And perhaps, one minute more of reflection might have opened her eyes to the reasons she craved this kind of unrealistic acceptance. Unfortunately, these crucial two minutes of thought were quickly swallowed up by the Nix lurking inside her. This was exactly what it wanted her to do, to run for Mayor.

"Don't you understand!" she blurted out, the stress of the oncoming debate getting to her, "Everything depends on this!" Her fury had driven her close to tears.

Tired of stuffing envelopes, knocking on doors, and taping signs to telephone poles (no one would let them put signs on their lawns), Colin had asked in self defense, "What more can we do?"

His aunt's response was to simply grab her Marcus doll from the desk and swirl out of the office. The doll seemed to provide her with security, and the more she felt threatened, the tighter she held onto it. Colin sighed.

The campaign headquarters, which Mr. Blandish had provided, were conveniently next door to the bank, so any time he wanted, he could slither in and look around. When this happened, and Grizzelda was in the office, she had instructed Colin and the others to press the intercom button--three short beeps and one long beep--to give her a heads up. The system wasn't exactly foolproof, usually because Grizzelda was having a bad day and would screech through the intercom, "ABSOLUTELY NO CALLS! NO EXCEPTIONS, OR ELSE!", thus creating a gaping hole in the communications network set up to protect against Blandish and his unannounced visits.

Once, he caught her there and wouldn't leave, following her about like a puppy, willing to do anything to please her. She had finally succumbed to his passive, silent pressure and assented to letting him come along on a canvassing run. When she returned, she was furious, and without Blandish.

Colin tapped on her office door and popped his head in asking her how the canvassing had gone.

His aunt was sitting behind her desk, repetitively stabbing a letter opener into an apple. The Marcus doll, kilt splayed out over its legs, sat guard on the corner of her desk. Her eyes flashed dangerously at her nephew.

"He's going to win!" she said, her voice so loud and full of such animosity that everyone in the outer office stopped stuffing envelopes.

"How do you know?" asked Colin hesitantly.

"Don't ask how I know! I just know! And that's all you need to know!" she snapped, jumping out of her seat, beginning to pace again. "Hugh Dundas! They like him better than they like me!"

"Can you blame them," said Spike, his mouth always a little ahead of his thoughts. He was finding it difficult to talk because his tongue had a number of paper cuts on it. In a fit of humor, Spike had dressed the Marcus doll in a pink chiffon outfit, complete with handbag and high heels. Grizzelda was not amused, and took away the porcelain envelope sealer he had been using to wet the envelope glue, thus condemning him to use his tongue.

"No," she said, her eyes blazing intensely, "you don't understand." She'd dashed out of her office and descended on Spike, his face squeezed between her thumb and forefinger. His lips were squished up vertically, like some bizarre kissing fish. "I must win, at any cost!"

"Well, why don't you have a debate? You know, get people together by offering free food, then debate Hugh on the issues," offered Colin trying to save Spike.

Grizzelda hovered indecisively, somewhere between turning on him and dismissing him from her sight, but thought better of it, gave a restrained nod, and then left the campaign office.

"Thanks," said Spike rubbing his jaw. "I thought she was going to squash my face. I sure would hate to be around her when Hugh takes her apart. I mean, how can she debate the issues, when she doesn't know what any of them are?"

***

Their next step, according to Rhea, was an act of desperation: visit Hugh Dundas and convince him to either sabotage his own campaign or withdraw from the race.

They had asked Maestro if they could cut class and, surprisingly, he'd agreed, but Melissa had to stay behind. The angel apprenticeship was turning out to be rather rigorous. Frederick had explained it well: "Clowns can make mistakes, and people often find it funny, but somebody who works providing security can't allow any mistakes. If they do, somebody may be badly injured, or die, or worse." Colin didn't ask what "worse _"_ entailed, but suspected it had something to do with Zuhayer Horwood and the Nixes.

They were halfway across the bridge when Spike, wistfully leaning over the side, spotted the flicker of a multicolored dress against the verdant green of the bush before it disappeared beyond the far bend of the little river just across from Pansy Patch.

"It's her, Silverberry! She's down there! I just saw her!"

Colin considered Spike's reaction and felt a little bit jealous. He wished it had been him who had seen her. He had an idea. Closing his eyes he focused on Sergeant Peary, and sure enough the soldier in blood-stained fatigues 'POPPED' out of the air in front of them.

"It's about time! I was wondering if you lot had forgotten about me?" he said, a bit of self-pity in his voice.

"Sorry," apologized Colin, "but we've been kind've busy. I've got a question for you."

"Shoot," growled Sergeant Peary tapping the ashes from his perpetually burning cigar stub over the side of the bridge, "figuratively, of course."

"Well, remember Halloween?"

Sergeant Peary gave a big grin. "How could I forget? That was some party!"

"You seemed to get along well with Silverberry. Why was that?"

"What, you don't think I could have an attractive date?" He turned to Rhea. "I'm not that bad am I?"

"No, you're not that bad," said Rhea shyly.

"Who exactly is Silverberry?" pursued Colin.

He shrugged evasively. "She's a ghost, caught between here and there, but because she died around here, she's quite a bit more substantial than I am."

"Can you find her?"

"Of course, I can find her!" he said in an offended voice. "She hangs out just around the bend, across from Pansy Patch. She has a nice little camp there, and she brews a nice cup of imaginary herbal tea. She's a bit esoteric, if you know what I mean."

"Can you take Spike to her?" Colin had wanted to say "me" but, instead, the name Spike had come out of his mouth, and by the eager look on Spike's face, he couldn't take it back.

Sergeant Peary gave them a wary glance. "Revealing the presence of another ghost to the living is against Union rules, you know. It could get me into some serious trouble. You saw those guys at the party. They don't fool around. If I do this, all of you, will owe me big time."

"I'll do anything you say," cut in Spike, anxious to get the soldier to commit.

"You know about The Circus of the Moon," asked Rhea, "about what they're planning?"

"Of course I know. Maestro has told me everything. Actually, I have a few bones to pick with the Old Man, and wouldn't miss the opportunity to see him put in his place. Maestro has even agreed to work me into the plot, although he didn't really have to. When those Nixes appear, I'll be there, ready to rumble." A big bazooka, strapped to his shoulder, suddenly materialized and then disappeared.

"Well, will you do it? Will you help Spike find Silverberry?" asked Colin.

Sergeant Peary hesitated but when he saw Spike's pitiful face, he gave a disgruntled grunt and gave in. "Fine, all right, but you do it my way. First, you don't ask me any more questions about WHO she is. Second, if she doesn't want to see you, you leave her alone. Third, if those ghouls with the stovepipe hats come looking for me, you three are going to bale me out. Deal?"

"Bale you out, how?" asked Colin.

"I don't know. That's up to you. Is it a deal, or not?" Sergeant Peary had crossed his arms. Everything about him was square: shoulders, arms, and chin. They knew he wasn't going to budge.

"Deal," said Spike quickly, sealing it by spitting in his hand and shaking the burly soldier's hand.

"All right, let's lock and load," said Sergeant Peary dashing off down the bridge and over the side, the ghost having gone totally commando.

Spike hesitated before following. "Sorry, about this. I just have some questions to ask her."

Colin nodded, secretly wanting to go with him. "Sure, go on, we can talk to Hugh alone."

"Thanks," said Spike running after Sergeant Peary.

"What is it with him and Silverberry?" asked Rhea.

"I don't know, but I think it has something to do with his parents. We never knew our parents. Grizzelda and G.T. took care of us since we were little."

They continued the walk to Hugh's house, which was high on the riverbank at the other end of the bridge.

"That must've been tough, I mean, not knowing them," prodded Rhea.

"I don't know. I don't have any memories of them. Spike and Melissa are a bit different. They remember, mind you not much, but enough to know what they sort of looked like, what they sounded like, felt like."

"Felt like?"

"Yeah, everybody has a _feel_ about them. It's like the sound of a person's voice. Spike says that Silverberry _feels_ like somebody who might have known his parents."

They continued on in silence until they found themselves standing on the doorstep of Hugh Dundas's modest bungalow. Rhea's face was emotionless, staring at the door remembering her own father.

"I understand," was all she said before pushing the doorbell, and Colin felt that she did.

The door opened quickly as though he was expecting someone. Hugh Dundas teetered, wavering before them like on old bare-branch tree just about to fall down, then he stiffened, rooted, becoming stable. He looked behind them warily. The cloudiness cleared from his eyes and in one impatient motion, ushered them in, frantically shutting the door behind them. He had been waiting for someone, but they weren't sure whom. Although his skin sagged on his face, eyelids hooding his eyes, Rhea and Colin could still see the remnant of fear there. He blinked and it was gone. He tried to smile but ended up giving them a tense, painful grin.

"Come on, come on, follow me," he said impatiently, moving down the narrow hall into his study surprisingly fast for his advanced age. He seemed anxious to get away from the door. "I was wondering when you were going to get around to visiting me," he said as he sat in his large plush chair and slowly sunk into it. He motioned for them to sit on the black leather couch facing him.

"You were waiting for us?" asked Rhea.

"No – yes, no, of course I was waiting for you," he said testily unable to make up his mind.

"How did you know?" asked Colin. Was Hugh like his aunt, able to use his mind, to see, to communicate with people far away?

He scratched his head. "Because I looked out the window? I have a perfect view of the bridge. So, what does the enemy camp want?"

"It's about the election," began Colin.

Hugh Dundas let out a huge sigh, a worried look on his face. "I don't really want to become Mayor you know. I had no idea I would be winning the silly thing, but now these ridiculous people, most of whom I detest, want to vote for me."

"Why run then?" asked Colin unable to believe his good luck. They had come to ask him to throw the race and that's exactly what he wanted to do.

"Victory by acclamation is no victory at all; besides, it was the only way I could get close to your aunt. I'm an avid genealogist and have been working on the Horwood family tree, but there are gaps that need filling. She has refused any communication, so I thought this was the next best bet. If I run against her, she's bound to want to talk to me." He turned to Rhea. "Could you tell your mom to back off a bit." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a button and handed it to her. Over top of his profile, which looked distinctly like Caesar Augustus, were the words, 'Pay your Due for Hugh.'

"Rhea, what's he talking about?" asked Colin noticing her squirming in her chair.

"My mom is handling his campaign. When she heard Grizzelda was running she wasn't at all happy. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen," explained Rhea.

"Yes, a bang up job of it. The problem is she's too good. Do you think there's a way to get her to stop working so hard?"

Colin turned to Rhea, dumbfounded that his best friend had been keeping this secret, "You're working against us?"

"No, I'm not. I think this entire political thing is for people who've never grown up...and considering I'm hardly grown up that's pretty profound," explained Rhea.

"Indeed it is," said Hugh.

"So, you don't really want to win, and you're running to get close to Grizzelda to ask her some questions about her family tree?" asked Colin trying to sort out Hugh Dundas' motive. There was something about the family tree thing that didn't sound true. "What else are you looking for?"

Hugh's lips tightened before opening to yield to his thoughts. "All right the genealogy was a smoke screen. I need some answers. My son is missing. Now, I know Marcus is always jetting off here and there without letting me know, but he checks up on me no matter where he is. I haven't heard from him since before Ms. Horwood's dinner party. It's not normal for him to let so much time pass without calling me. And remember, I told you my father owned a newspaper. You've probably read some of the stories. He wasn't too friendly with Zuhayer. Well, to make a long story short, Zuhayer burned down the newspaper and ruined my father. So, when Zuhayer's granddaughter rolls into town and claims Horwood House, I want to know why."

"And you think running for mayor will help you know why Grizzelda claimed Horwood house? I mean, if you're so curious, why don't you just ask her," said Colin so simply that it caught Hugh by surprise.

"There are other questions. Questions to do with Grizzelda and her sister, about Zuhayer's wife, Charlotte, and what she died of and..." he paused, weighing them, "I think your aunt has a lot of answers. I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out a way to get some leverage to use on her, to get her to open up. The direct route didn't work. I've tried, but she put a restraining order on me, saying that I can't go anywhere near the house, or she would have me arrested."

"I don't believe you," said Colin. There was something more, something Hugh was hiding with his snowstorm of reasons. If he had lied once, who was to say he wasn't lying now.

Hugh, suddenly agitated, jumped up out of his chair and loomed over them. "Because I want the truth, because my father wrote something that Zuhayer destroyed him over, and because I know he's trying to come back and he's somehow manipulating your aunt." His fingers were closed into fist he now shook in the air. "I want him to pay for what he did to my family, and I need to have the jump on him." Suddenly he lunged at Colin, his hawk beak of a nose hovering over the boy's face. "What do you know?"

"I don't know much," said Colin squirming uncomfortably. He felt like a fly caught in a web.

"You know a lot more than you think," said Hugh his hot breath puffing out each syllable. The harmless old man was gone leaving something sharp and dark. Then his features softened and his fingers unfolded from the fists he had made. Pressing them together in prayer like fashion he smiled. "I'll make you both a deal. You tell me why you think Maestro is here, and I'll happily blow the debate; however, something tells me it might not be that simple. I hope it is. There is nothing that frightens me more than having to be Mayor of this place." He settled back into his chair. "All right, I'm all ears."

Colin hesitated, and then, even though he didn't mean to, began talking about Horwood House, the statue, and the odd behavior of his aunt. It was as though Hugh's unblinking eyes were pulling the words from his mouth. When he mentioned the peculiar invisible guard things, a deadly serious pall settled over the old man's face. Abruptly, he stopped Colin from talking, leaned over and rummaged through a pile of papers on a side stand until he found a battered old book and pulled it out. He began flipping through pages, fervently intent on finding something. Triumphantly he poked his finger like a spear into a particular spot and flipped the book around so they could see.

"Everything is fitting together! An old sociologist came up with these rules for behavior. You see, the behavior already existed; he just made it simple to understand. He said the first thing a person needs, is to satisfy their fundamental needs, like food, water, and shelter. As other needs are satisfied they ascend this pyramid until they reach the top, self-actualization. If I was to make a judgment call, your aunt is right here, second from the top. If she wins the approval of her peers, then she has only one stage left before...."

Suddenly despondent at his discovery, he sagged back into his chair. "So, that's what the old devil is up to. He's using your aunt, just like he used everyone around him. Do you know what he's going to do with your aunt?" Not waiting for an answer, he reached over, took a tissue and blew his nose. He dropped the fluttering tissue in the small wastebasket beside his chair. "That's what he's going to do."

Colin's head was spinning. The images of the statue kept popping into his head: the marble block, then the first completed section, the second section, and the third, until the present state of the nearly revealed figure. He looked at the old man in a new light, with a new respect.

"So, the problem is," began Rhea slowly, "is that you are winning the race, and we have to get you to lose it."

Hugh grunted discontentedly. "Yes. How Maestro intends to send Zuhayer packing, I haven't the foggiest. Don't get me wrong. I want Zuhayer back here. I want to look into his eyes and give him back what he gave! Now he's dragged Marcus into it. I know he has!" He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly flaring again, dispelling the murk there, and burning into Colin and Rhea. "If he's hurt my son, I'll.... Marcus and I may have our differences but I'm still his father. Where is he? Is he all right? Not knowing is killing me!" He took a moment to compose himself. "I just need to know more about Maestro's plan," he implored.

"Why don't you ask him yourself," said Colin. There was something about the old man that was 'off', that was lurking just below like some predatory fish. Colin couldn't figure out why he had just blabbed so much to him.

"I'd like to, but I don't want to run the risk of getting arrested. They rarely leave Horwood House."

"I guess I could ask Maestro," said Colin suddenly a little tentatively. He would ask Maestro, but he would ask him about Hugh Dundas.

"Good," he said, then suddenly slapped his thigh with his hand, "but right now we have our little problem. How am I going to lose to your aunt? I never thought your aunt could be so bad at this."

"I have an idea," said Colin quietly, refusing to look at Rhea.

"Yes?"
Rhea was surprised when a copy of Aunt Grizzelda's introductory speech for the debate appeared in his hand.

"I borrowed a copy from the office. I wanted to see what she was going to say," explained Colin. "I thought we could use it."

"What's it like?" asked Rhea leaning in with Hugh.

"It's terrible."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Hugh, deftly snatching the paper from Rhea's hand. For a few pensive moments Hugh buried his hawk like beak in the paper before looking up. "You're right, this _is_ terrible. If your aunt reads this rambling platform statement tonight, there would be no possible way she could win the debate, much less the election." He rubbed his chin. "This is very interesting, very interesting."

"What is so interesting?" asked Colin.

"Either your Aunt really doesn't know what she's doing, or she knows exactly what she's doing. I think it's the latter. We know that Zuhayer is using your aunt, and I think she knows it too; the problem is she's trapped in his web. Regardless of what she says, subliminally she doesn't want to win; she doesn't want Zuhayer to come back."

"Great, then beat her and it's the end of the story, right?" said Colin optimistically.

"Wrong. It may stall him a little bit longer, but he most certainly will kill your aunt--and my son. I know if we solve this, not only will you get your aunt back, I'll get Marcus back and we'll all be rid of Zuhayer."

Colin thought of the voice in the mirror and he knew that it was Zuhayer, somehow speaking from beyond the grave. He felt the tiny prickle of fear crawling along the nape of his neck and he involuntarily reached up to rub it.

"You all right?" asked Rhea.

Colin shook his head. A sinking feeling came over him, like a black pit opening up below his feet. "I'm all right," he lied.

"Now let's see. What can we do here?" Hugh picked up a pencil from the table and began to scribble furiously onto the paper. After a few moments of crossing out and writing in, he finished and handed the paper back to Rhea. "That should do it. I'd offer you cookies and milk, but if you're going to type this up so that she doesn't know it's been tampered with, you ought to get going."

He walked them to the entrance, shook their hands, commented on how it was nice doing business with them and shut the door.

Rhea gave a big sigh of relief, and looked at Colin hopefully. "Well, that was easy, now wasn't it?"

***

Old Town Hall, a building with an ominous central clock tower and slope shouldered roof, the location for the debate, was filling up rapidly. Even after it was full, a line snaked down the street, past the library to the bank below. The local Cable Company had set up a big monitor so those who couldn't get in after the building had reached capacity could watch. The debate, for some unknown reason had become the hottest ticket in town.

Back stage, Grizzelda, her emotions already frazzled raw, each nerve open to the air, watched the people in the audience with terror. Her night sessions with Zuhayer Horwood in the mirror were getting very intense. She couldn't stop, not even if she wanted to, and she did want to, more than anything. It was as though the more she gave, the more Zuhayer demanded, to the point that she didn't have much left to give. It was then that the idea of losing the debate came to mind. If she did that, maybe, just maybe, this dream-turned-nightmare might go away. In her sweaty hands, she held her hope: a speech that would turn her into a pariah. She looked at Colin, Spike and Melissa and fought down the urge to give them a weak smile. After this was all over, she would make it up to them, but for now, she had to be strong.

From his position in the wing, Colin noticed Hugh Dundas, Rhea, and Mrs. Li on the other side of the stage. He waited, all the while worrying that Grizzelda might open up the paper to go over some of the lines and discover the rewritten platform. There was so much information whirling around in his head, and he didn't know for certain which pieces were reliable. Then a feeling of sickness gripped him. What if someone was lying, leading them astray on purpose? It was becoming harder to tell whose side anyone was on. He was beginning to suspect that there weren't any sides, only perspectives.

He noticed that Spike was oddly quiet. He had left with Sergeant Peary, full of energy, but now he seemed rather sad, melancholic, refusing to make eye contact with Colin. It was as though something or someone had drained all his liveliness away.

The Old Town Hall was giving him the creeps--he didn't know why. He heard something rustle behind him, accompanied by a throat being cleared. Detaching himself from the shadows, Sergeant Peary became visible. He motioned for Colin, who excused himself from Grizzelda's side.

"What do you want?" whispered Colin, still trying to keep an eye on Grizzelda who was fidgeting beside Spike. The debate was about to start.

"It's about Spike. You need to know something." The Sergeant's rough face, harsh in the shadows, became mellow, almost sensitive. "We found Silverberry." He ran his hand nervously through his stubby hair. For once the cigar stub wasn't burning puckishly. It was nowhere to be seen. "Listen, had I known...I never would've helped him. Man, I'm in hot water. When the Union hears about this, I'll be lucky if they let me hang around the living any longer. Remember your promise?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Colin impatiently.

"Silverberry," he said intensely. "She's not Spike and Melissa's mom."

"He thought she was his mom? This is going to get you into trouble? Finding out who she isn't?"

"No, no, no. In the finding out who she isn't, we found out who she was. I should've known! Promise me something, promise me you won't ask."

Colin's mouth went dry. Silverberry left a burned image on his mind each time he saw her. He wasn't sure if he could honor the request, but he forced himself, and Sergeant Peary visibly relaxed.

Grizzelda was taking a step toward the lectern in response to her introduction. The name, Horwood rang ominously in the hall.

Then he had a vision, different than previous ones because this one did not involve water. He felt the darkness grow around him, transporting part of his awareness into darkness so heavy he could feel its clammy breath on his skin. His surroundings changed, but strangely enough, he was still on the stage, in the wing, but instead of the lectern in the middle, there was a scaffold, complete with dangling noose and executioner. A crowd of people in the hall, silvery, semi-transparent figures stood still, their eyes riveted on the hooded figure sandwiched between two ghostly but burly police officers. They lead the diminutive form across the stage, up the steps of the scaffold to the waiting executioner.

Colin caught his breath. The executioner was Zuhayer Horwood. There was an eerie delight in his eyes. It was as though he was feasting on the abundance of fear in the room.

Maestro had said that time was like a river. That past, present and future weren't fixed, that sometimes they mixed, making it hard to tell what had happened, is happening, or would happen. Colin never imagined this was possible, until now.

"Have you ever wondered about the future?" asked a voice from behind him.

Colin turned to find Grandfather Thunder standing there holding onto his staff. The head of the staff had turned into a bat, wings outstretched.

"What's happening?" asked Colin feeling terrible.

"This place, the place we are in now, was once used to execute people. It was believed that execution was the only cure for chronic offenders. Unfortunately, it only exported the problem to another place--and of course there were mistakes made."

"I don't know whose side anyone is on anymore," blurted out Colin, confused to the core, sorely missing the old man.

Grandfather Thunder motioned with his staff toward the scaffold. The prisoner had reached the platform and was now having the noose fitted around the neck. The victim was breathing hard, sucking in and puffing out the black fabric of the bag on his or her head. As though possessed of a flash of malevolence, Zuhayer removed the bag with a rough yank.

Colin gasped. Standing on the scaffold was the wasted form of his aunt. Zuhayer laughed and pulled the lever that opened the trap door underneath where she stood and...

...Colin, much to his relief was back. The scaffold was gone. He stared with trepidation as Grizzelda stepped up to the lectern and ruffled her papers, preparing to read. She had the same wild look on her face, as in the vision when Zuhayer had pulled the lever to hang her. Colin felt ill. What was the meaning of his vision? Had they condemned her by changing the introductory speech, or was she doomed no matter what they did?

"Ladies and Gentlemen of our fair town..." she began in a monotone voice, which hummed out indifferently. When she got to the part Dundas had changed, her eyes opened wide, filled with horror, but it was too late to adapt, to change her established course. Instead of throwing her campaign into the rubbish heap, she elevated it and herself to a viable candidate for Mayor. How Hugh Dundas had done it was masterful. He hadn't changed much at all, but what he had done was reroute her focus, and her phrases, turned them so that they complimented instead of denigrated. Her legs shaking, still unaware of what had just happened, she returned to her seat behind the lectern.

It was Hugh Dundas' turn.

Like an ancient prophet, Hugh lifted himself out of his chair, and shuffled up to the lectern. He fumbled a few moments, trying to find his glasses, slipped them onto his hawk-like proboscis, and just when he was about to speak, took a drink. Then he began.

Shakespeare once wrote, 'I come not to bury Caesar, but to praise him.' He wrote it, but I don't expect you to know which play or which character said it, you bunch of miserable miscreants!" He paused letting the effect of his words sink in.

"Before me, I see good, upright, self-serving people. You people wouldn't know a good thing if it slithered out from beneath a rock and bit you. But, I do the serpent a disservice in this, because had it indeed bitten you, any one of you, it would've died from poisoning. You have just listened to the opening words, a little contrived, but nevertheless honest words, of Ms. Horwood." He held up his papers, the ones he had been disregarding, gripped them with his two gnarled hands, and ripped them apart. The torn papers fluttered down to the floor. I wouldn't be your Mayor, even if I was commanded to be by a voice from a burning bush. If I could, I'd withdraw my candidacy for the _Mayoralty_ of this town, but according to the town charter, I cannot. So, vote for someone who cares, or vote for me." He saluted Grizzelda, then padded off the stage and out one of the wing exits, leaving in his wake a sea of gaping, shocked people.

***

When they got back to Horwood House, the circus entertainers, including the massive Holdfast, were gathered around the statue staring at it. Grizzelda, distraught by the outcome of the day, refused to look at the statue and pushed by them into the house where she slammed the door behind her. Colin, Rhea and Spike joined Holdfast as he stared up at the statue. Maestro and Ofelia, dressed in their usual gray, were also staring up somberly. It was as though they were at a funeral. Colin looked at the statue. The only thing that needed completing was the head.

Chapter Sixteen: Dad

The terrible sound, a bit like a tormented cat trying to sing, pulled him roughly up from the depths of his sleep and deposited him rudely into a bewildered semiconscious state. Colin rubbed his eyes. After a few moments of confusion the sounds locked together and he recognized it -- Marcus' bagpipes! He was about to call out for Spike as he threw back his buffalo robe and leapt to his feet, but then thought better of it. Spike had taken forever to fall asleep. He was snuggled contentedly beneath the blankets on his bed. Let him sleep. The distant drone and skirl sounded, receding down the hallway. Not bothering to get fully dressed, Colin hastily threw on a robe and hurried out of the room, bare feet on the cold stone floor.

He ran down the stairs and found himself heading towards the broken tower. Oddly enough, he wasn't getting any closer to the sound. Whether he increased or decreased his speed the skirl and drone from the pipes were keeping a set distance from him, almost as though they were leading him on. A prickly feeling came over him, and he wondered if he was being led into a trap. He fought down the instinctual desire to call for Sergeant Peary, knowing that if he did so, he would lose the sound all together.

The damp paving stones beneath the house flew by and soon he found himself at the locked wall that separated the tower from the rest of the house, but it was open. Slipping through, he found himself approaching the circular stairwell that spiraled up into the endless heights where perspective made the stairs smaller and smaller. He paused at the foot of the staircase, hesitant to go anywhere near the red carpet that ran up the stairs like a tongue, but the sound of the bagpipes summoned him, urged him on. He couldn't resist. The sound in the stairwell, even though he couldn't see its source, now grew louder. He began taking the steps two at a time.

The entrances to the myriad doors seemed more obvious now, the runes on them standing out in stark contrast to the wall. Maestro had cautioned them that as they learned more, their perceptions of the world would change. They would begin to see and feel things they had not thought to exist. Colin stuck to the inside of the carpet still not trusting it. He had passed the door that led to the room with the looking glass that they had used on Halloween, and was beginning to wonder how long this would keep up when the sound of the bagpipes stopped.

At the same time, he also stopped, and found himself staring at a set of runes that encircled a hand print on the wall. It was then that he heard the whispering voice coming from behind the wall. It slithered through the pores in the rock and into his ears. Colin gave an involuntary shiver, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. The sound created a similar sensation to the snakes in the crypt lock that had crawled into his nose and out of his mouth. The difference here was that the susurration of the voice was crawling into his mind. He reached out, placed his hand onto the print and the stones slipped to the side creating a rough gaping entrance. He took a deep breath and entered.

It was a room much like the first room they had been in, and Colin wondered if all the rooms in the tower were like this. In the unadorned chamber, in its center, stood another mirror, identical to the first, identical to the one in his aunt's bedroom. It was from there that the voice was coming.

Colin approached the full-length, oval mirror. He recognized his image in the mirror, but it was incredibly distant, much further away than he actually was in the room. It was him, but it wasn't him. He was a baby! As he cautiously approached, he noticed his form was getting larger, but also older--from an infant, to a child, to a teenager, to that of an adult. He stared into his own, now older eyes, noticing the depth therein and the age lines at the corners of his eyes. Was this really him? His image was mouthing words but only a distant whisper was coming out. The voice became more distinct, but it wasn't a normal voice. It was as though all the voices of all his previous ages were speaking in concert, but he couldn't understand what his image was saying. Then his adult image in the mirror smiled. Colin, knowing that he, himself, was not smiling, stepped back. This was much more than a reflective image of a possible self.

"Don't go," said the man in the mirror. "This _is_ a surprise. I really wasn't expecting you." The voice was full and rich, and familiar.

"Who are you?" asked Colin not exactly sure whether he should run or not.

"I thought that would be rather obvious. I'm you, of course."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Colin's head was beginning to spin. Even so, he felt drawn back to the mirror. It was as though he was standing over a raging waterfall and it was exerting all its power over him, trying to drag him in. After a few moments of silence, Colin realized that the image in the mirror was waiting for him to talk. He cleared his voice. "What's it like, being me?"

The figure shrugged. "I don't know. What's it like being you?"

A rising sense of irritation began to churn inside Colin; after all, you would think that his older self would have gained some knowledge, grown a bit in the direction of Grandfather Thunder, or Maestro, or.... he suddenly went cold. How could he be sure that this image of himself was actually -- him? This was the broken tower and things here had a nasty habit of becoming twisted. He remembered the costumes that had dissolved away to nothing.

"What do you want?" asked Colin, his voice turning cold and hard.

A mocking smile began to turn the lips of the image, but then was suppressed. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're the one here."

"The music led me here. Didn't you hear the music?"

The figure in the mirror shrugged. "You must be hearing things."

"No, I'm not hearing things. There was the sound of bagpipes leading me up here. The door to the tower was open and I was led to this room. Listen, you either tell me why I'm here or I'm gone!" Colin made a move to leave.

"No, wait. Yes, it was I. I made the music. I opened the locks."

"Why?"

"You're in danger. The Circus of the Moon isn't everything it seems," said the figure in the mirror sincerely, leaning forward in confidentiality, as though someone else might be listening.

"What do you mean by that?" responded Colin warily. He was getting this unctuous feeling in his stomach, and he could feel his spirit guardian wafting into the room, taking notice of his conversation.

"Did you ever wonder why Maestro and Grandfather Thunder have warned you to suppress your desire to call out your true guardian?"

He shook his head; he wasn't about to give this image in the mirror any more information, yet he was still there, listening.

"It's funny how you are told not to use the things that could potentially help you, but back to the Circus--just beware their true intent."

"True intent?" Colin felt as though he was being lured out, baited; however, he couldn't help but respond. "They are trying to help Zuhayer Horwood to come back, so they can finally get rid of him."

The figure in the mirror shook his head, looking gravely concerned. "I don't think so. You watch, today, Maestro is going to make some changes to the subplot the clowns have been developing. He's going to have Frederick work in the concept of a coronation."

"A coronation?"

"Yes, Zuhayer Horwood's coronation. This pretenssse..."

The slippery susurration in the way his adult image sometimes pronounced his esses made Colin suddenly chary. Springing into his mind was one of Maestro's lessons: "Things are not always as they seem."

"...pretenssse of assisting his return to get rid of him doesn't exactly inssstill confidence. I believe Maestro is assisting your aunt to help Zuhayer to come back to be crowned."

"Crown him? Make him king? King of what?"

His image arched an eyebrow, and the mocking, condescending smile flickered to the surface again. "Why, King of the Faerie. Hasn't Maestro been teaching you anything lately? Faerie is everything, the seen and the unseen. All is not as it ssseems? Well, if all is not as it ssseems, what is it? And who do you think would like to rule over it?"

The wind guardian inside was fully awake, its awareness slipping behind his own, using him as a porthole to see the image in the mirror. Colin felt a desire to open his mouth and let it out, to smash the mirror, but fought it down. He didn't even know what or where Faerie was, or whether it was worth ruling over.

"Why wouldn't Maestro and Grandfather Thunder decide to be kings? Why hand it all over to Zuhayer?"

The image shook his head disappointedly. "I'm so glad I'm not you anymore. Have you ever heard the term triad, triumvirate, troika? They intend to divide Faerie into three and to rule their own slice."

"Well," Colin was quickly coming to the conclusion that he didn't like his older self, "what do I have to do with it? If they decide to do this, then there's nothing I can do to stop them, now is there?"

"You don't know, do you?" said his adult image in the mirror pityingly. "They can't do any of this without you, because you hold the final key."

"The key? What are you talking about?" said Colin, getting irritated. "If you know so much and I know so little, why don't you just tell me; after all, you are me, or you're supposed to be me!"

"You still don't believe. Well, that's all right. Do you know why Sergeant Peary was assigned to be your temporary guardian spirit, other than to keep you from using your real guardian? Well, all guardian spirits have to have some type of cultural or familial relationship to their host. Peary is our great uncle, our real great uncle."

"I know that!" said Colin.

"Then do you know Peary's sister, Emily, had twins, twin girls, Millicent and Sarah?"

"Of course I know! Aunt Grizzelda is Millicent. My mother was her sister, Sarah! And, unfortunately, that makes Zuhayer Horwood my great grandfather. Do you have to rub it in?"

"Why does that displease you? He was a great man!" His adult image in the mirror looked confused.

Colin hesitated. Why should he feel happy about being related to a tyrant? "So," he said, unsure as to whether the ground beneath his feet was going to shift, "what am I supposed to do... as the final key, and all?"

His image's forehead now shone with a fervent sweat, matching a sudden intensity in its eyes. "You must call forth The Wind just before the end of the performance; you must let it defend you. When your aunt completes the last step in the hierarchy and Zuhayer returns, only you can command your guardian spirit, the real one, to banish Zuhayer forever."

The bagpipe music suddenly droned once more into the air, but this time it came from behind the mirror. As if his nervous system hadn't already been startled enough by this meeting, this further shock blasted his heart up into his mouth. The image in the mirror raised his hand in farewell. "I must go, you must go, and remember what I have said. Tell no one." The image was walking backwards, getting smaller, receding in time, becoming a teen again, a child, a baby, then, nothing.

A whirlwind of emotions surged about him as he traversed the passages that led from the tower. He tried focusing on what Maestro had taught in one of his lessons: 'That even though the world in all its tempests can surge about you, that you can be strong, stable and calm like a rock in the middle of the raging river. Through breath, through controlled breathing, this can be achieved,'

But now, if what his self had told him was true, both Maestro and Grandfather Thunder were not to be trusted. Suppressing his emotions, delaying them, he traversed the passages back to the main house and climbed the stairs to the second floor to go back to bed. Light shone from under Grizzelda's bedroom door. He paused. She was whispering again, most likely to her mirror or her Marcus doll. As he put his ear to the door, he inadvertently placed his hand up against it. The slight pressure caused it to swing inwards. He slipped into the room.

The flickering dance of shadow and light came from a lamp placed on the floor. Aunt Grizzelda was sitting there, her legs crossed. At first she looked like a Nix, just black, unmoving. In contrast to her dark clothing, lit by the dim light, was the stark, anemic pallor of his aunt's profile. Holding the Marcus doll to her chest, she was rocking back and forth in front of the big oval mirror, muttering something over and over again. Entranced, and yet horrified, Colin moved closer. He had to see who was in the mirror, but his angle was wrong.

At first she seemed oblivious to him, but as he was about to step into the line of sight, where he could see the front of the mirror, she was wrenched from her trance and turned on him. Colin was unnerved by the raw, savage emotion he saw in her eyes, so much so that he momentarily forgot about the mirror. Her eyes were absolutely black, the pupils dilated unnaturally wide. Her cheeks were wet with tears. He fully expected to be yelled at, and braced himself for the impact, but was surprised when Grizzelda only rose to her feet and walked calmly over to him. She stood between him and the mirror, purposely keeping him from seeing what was there.

"What did you see?" she said intensely, the hunted, wild look in her eyes intensifying.

Colin was relieved that he had seen nothing, because had he, with his aunt staring at him like this, he would have confessed.

"Nothing, I saw nothing. I... I just... wanted to see how you were."

This seemed to catch her by surprise, because she swayed a bit, desperately gripping the fat Marcus doll tighter to her chest. Her bottom lip escaped her control and quivered a bit.

"Fine, I'm, fine," she said tersely, but it was obvious she was not.

A tense, awkward silence filled the space between them as they both hesitated, waiting for something to fill it, for the other to say something. The latent pressure of this was too much for Colin.

"You are my aunt, I mean, my real aunt, aren't you?" said Colin.

Grizzelda let out a quivering sigh and she slumped into the big rocker at the side of her bed. He still couldn't see the front of the mirror. She nodded, staring at him now with wide, frightened eyes. "I haven't talked about it with you very much, have I? I... I haven't kept it from you, either though. You've always known your mother was my sister. We were twins."

Everything began to slip into place, the library, Zuhayer, everything, except one thing, how his mother died. He heard his own voice as though it was coming from a great distance, repeating his thought, "How did she die?"

"Die?" responded Grizzelda curiously, a dark look coming over her. "She's not dead. If she were I'd be the first one to know. I'd _feel_ it."

Confusion flowed into him. Someone was lying.

"Why didn't you or Grandfather Thunder ever tell me about my parents?" he pressed, his voice involuntarily rising in volume. He had a right to know; after all, it was his life!

"We had no reason to. Look, what were we going to say? Your mom ran away, and got pregnant by that _thing!_ " Her mouth twisted in distaste. "You know, I never found out whether she told him or not. She gave birth to you in shame, and we hid it as long as we could, but Zuhayer found out. It was impossible to keep anything from him. He would have had you killed to save face, you know. I couldn't bring myself to burden you with this part of your history, Colin. Grandfather Thunder wanted to tell you a long time ago. I just wouldn't let him."

"It's my life!" said Colin, reacting before thinking. It was the first time anyone had mentioned his father, and he wasn't about to let go of that easily. If his mother was alive, he wanted to know. "Where are my parents? Why did they abandon me? Where are they?"

"My sister's name--your mother--is Sarah... the little princess." She said in a glazed, contemplative trance. As she finished saying this, Grizzelda's demeanor abruptly changed, seeing Colin in her room for the first time. "What do you think you are doing in here?" she blared, rising to her feet. She loomed imposingly over him, her bewilderment erased from her face, replaced by an accusatory attitude. "Are you acting as a spy for Maestro... or maybe Ofelia? Spies are such treacherous brutes! Or maybe Dundas, or Grandfather Thunder, or that snip of a woman, Mrs. Li, or that nosy ghost?"

With every word she advanced, driving him backward, one step at a time, toward the door; but he had had enough of his aunt's bullying. Colin crossed his arms and willed himself into immovable stone. The knowledge that his parents were still alive gave him permanence. He had to face down his aunt, or the Nix inside her, or both.

"I'm not spying for any of them," he surprised himself by the strength in his voice, "and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me more about my parents."

Then she was teetering on the edge again, the pattern of her breathing coming in short panicked bursts. She clenched her chest and backed away from him, all the while looking uncertain, lost. Her retreat halted abruptly when her calves bumped up against the side of her bed. She gave an exhausted sigh and slumped heavily onto the bed. Colin saw her expression change; her features softened once again.

"Come over here, Colin." She patted the bed, a sign for him to sit. "We're not identical twins, Sarah and I," she began, an invisible weight slowly easing off her shoulders, allowing her to sit straighter. "My name isn't really Grizzelda. But of course, you've known that since that terrible day Marcus disappeared, haven't you. It's actually Millicent. Grizzelda is a name I took. It's an ugly name, for an ugly person."

She turned toward the bedside table just long enough to open its small built-in drawer and to pull out a badly, tarnished heart-shaped locket. Upon opening the locket, she paused for a moment to remove something from it, then held out the locket to Colin for him to see. There were two small photographs cut to fit the locket frames, one of Grizzelda and one of Silverberry!

"Sarah loved to hide away her treasures, but I had a gift, shall we say, for finding all her hiding places."

Colin almost missed hearing this; he was so focused on the photo of Silverberry. Silverberry was Sarah! His mother _was_ Silverberry!

"She loved colors, loved life, loved _him._ I can't blame you if you hate me, because I deserve it. This isn't the first time Maestro has come to town. They're like us: they're special. He's a clown, your father, a very good one, and both of us fell in love with him. He loved Sarah, not me." Grizzelda's eyes were wide and staring, as though she was witnessing everything again. "I pushed her into the water, and the current took her. I felt her fear, her panic, but before I could do anything, she was pulled under. Oh, Sarah," she keened wrapping her arms around herself and beginning to rock, "it happened so fast!"

Colin shook his head in disbelief. "But, you said she wasn't dead! You said she was alive!"

Grizzelda looked at him suddenly a stark wildness in her eyes. "Death? What is death? I never said she stopped existing, now did I. Stop trying to understand things you don't have a clue about." Her face was a wall of impassable bitterness. "I took you to Grandfather Thunder. I couldn't go back to _him_ ; he would've destroyed you, and me."

"Who is my father?" asked Colin, feeling the anger of being lied to boil up inside him. As far as he was concerned, the Nix was making his aunt certifiably mad. Only a mad person would tell someone his mother was alive and then dead within the space of a few seconds.

Grizzelda's lips became hard, two tight, white lines pressed together, but then she sighed. "He's here, right now. You know him; you've been working with him. How does it feel... to have a father?" she said mockingly. "Sarah and I never had one. Horwood women have a penchant for getting involved with mad men, or men who don't care. The rare one that cares is taken away." She gave the Marcus doll an involuntary hug.

Colin got up and stalked to the door, unable to be in the same room as his aunt, but before he left he turned and confronted her one last time.

"Who is he?" he demanded.

For a moment, Grizzelda looked surprised and frightened, then the old mocking bitterness flooded back into her features. Using the name like a club, she bellowed his father's name, "Frederick!" Opening her hand to reveal a small heart-shaped photo, she crushed it into the locket covering up her own photograph, then threw the necklace at Colin's feet. "Your father's name is Frederick! He has no last name! And neither do you!"

***

It was just a little before dawn and Colin felt as though every pore on his body was in pain. Perched on the deep windowsill he looked out across the lawn at the caravan belonging to Frederick and imagined himself going down and knocking on his door. But what do you say to a father you've never known: "Hi, Dad, just thought I'd drop by and say a big helloooo! So, Dad, is there any reason why you haven't claimed me as your son?" His current state of internal agony came from weighing the two possible answers that had come to mind: either he had no clue at all, or Frederick knew and didn't care. Right now, not knowing the answer seemed safer. Another question that caused him great pain was why his Aunt and Grandfather Thunder hadn't told him any of this for so long. It made him burn with fury, made him feel as though his image in the mirror was right, about everything.

"What are you doing up so early?" asked a groggy voice behind him. Spike was sitting up on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes.

"Did you know too?" said Colin harshly.

The tone of Colin's voice seemed to bring Spike fully awake. He slipped into his robe and went over to the windowsill and glanced outside. "What's eating you?"

"Silverberry," was all Colin said, waiting for a response, and when it didn't come, he knew the answer. "I thought you were my friend. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I am! I don't know why I didn't say anything; maybe I was hurt, maybe a bit jealous," explained Spike.

"Jealous?" He turned to face him in disbelief.

"I thought she was _my_ mom! I was hoping she was, but when Sergeant Peary got her to confess, she said she was your mom. I'm sorry. I was going to tell you, honestly!"

"Right, well, you don't have to bother. I know now," he said, softening his tone towards Spike; after all, they were in the same canoe. He stared out the window at the caravan. "I know who my dad is too."

Spike looked out the window. "Where is he? Who is he?"

"Grizzelda said it's Frederick."

"Do you think it's true?"

"Maybe. It depends who was talking, her or the Nix."

"Well, what are you doing here; let's go wake him up! He should know, shouldn't he?"

***

Outside his door, in the chill of the morning, their breath steaming out in coils, Colin hesitated, his hand hovering over the door. His courage quickly failing him, he was just about to turn away when Spike stepped past him and hammered his fist on the door.

Muffled movements came from inside, and then a voice telling them to wait a moment. The door opened, and filling the frame of the small door, stooping before them, was the immense form of Holdfast, the hair on his head disheveled, like a great wind had just swept over him. He scratched his chin, rubbed his beard with a big hand and blinked at them several times before actually recognizing them.

"Well, what brings you two here so early in the morning? Circus people get up early, but this is absurd."

"Can we come in?" asked Colin, feeling the cold of the morning blowing through his woolen coat.

"Sure, come on in," said Holdfast moving his sizable bulk over to the side of the caravan.

The interior of the caravan was a lot bigger than they expected. In fact it was a lot bigger than it really should have been. They expected a one room cloistered space, but what they got was an impossibly large, three-roomed chamber. There was a large kitchen with a big butcher's block standing next to a large table above which hung a vast assortment of black pots and pans. There was also a commercial-sized stainless steel stove and refrigerator. Separated from the kitchen by a big arch was the strangest sunken living room they had ever seen. It looked like some bizarre surrealist painting, except it was real. At the edge of what seemed to be a vast desert sat a black leather sofa and matching recliner. Everything, the sand, the sphinx and the great pyramid on the horizon were the color of ecru. A blazing hot sun hung in the cloudless sky. In front of the couch was a big table decorated with Egyptian décor: framed papyrus paintings, scarabs, and the faces of a few of the many Egyptian Gods.

"Wow," said Spike in awe, stepping out onto the sand, trying to take in everything at once. "How did you manage to get all of this in here? Is it real?" said Spike staring up at the pyramid. I mean can we climb it?"

Holdfast, still dressed in his nightgown and funny little hat, sunk down into the big leather recliner, his big bare feet rising into the air before them. If it was possible, he looked a bit embarrassed. "Sure, you can! You can even go inside, but I'm sure that's not what you're here about. Maestro doesn't like us bragging about our living rooms. You should see Magenta's; she's got a pirate ship!"

"A pirate ship?" repeated Spike excitedly.

Colin cleared his voice. "What's Frederick's caravan like?"

Holdfast scratched his head and yawned. "Tell you the truth, I don't know. He's always been rather secretive about his living room. I never thought to ask him. Why?" he said, then a thought unfurled on his face. "You're here about Frederick aren't you?"

Colin nodded. There was no easy way to broach the subject so he simply spat it out. It was as though he had been holding his finger in a dike, and was now pulling it out. The pressure that had been building now rushed out in four simple words. "Is Frederick my father?"

Holdfast sat forward, the footrest of his recliner slipping back against the body of the chair. His hands were lying flat on his lap. As though he was making sure he heard the question right, he repeated, "Is Frederick your father?"

Colin nodded.

"Well!" said Holdfast in a sudden explosion of breath, slapping his thighs with his hands and with surprising agility, as he jumped up out of his chair (Colin was amazed by the big man's dexterity and quickness). The little red ball on the end of his nightcap fell in front of his face and he blew it to the side, "There's only one thing to do, isn't there. You came to me because you'd find it difficult to deal with a denial from Frederick if he tells you he isn't your father? And if he is your father, you'd find it difficult if he knew he was your father and was just being a deadbeat dad, right?" he asked discerningly.

"Yes."

"I'm assuming you want my help, or else you wouldn't have come to me?"

Colin nodded.

"Right, just leave it to me. He'll be explaining himself by the end of the day, or else he'll be limping for a week!" said Holdfast in a tone of righteous anger.

"No!" said Colin. "Just find out if he knows he has a son. Don't mention me. If he doesn't know, I'll deal with it -- somehow."

Holdfast stared at him with respect and then nodded gravely. "I see, you want me to do this covertly. Now, are you two hungry? I won't take no for an answer. Let me go get changed and I'll whip up some sausages and eggs for you."

They walked off the hot desert sand and back into his kitchen.

Chapter Seventeen: Confrontation

Colin explained to Spike that this was something he had to do on his own, and Spike understood. He knew he was going to get into trouble by ducking out on Maestro's early morning lesson, and by missing practice with Frederick, but right now, he couldn't face any of them, not until he confronted Silverberry; after all, she was his mother.Pansy Patch looked much like it had always looked: carefully manicured grass, tall stately trees, the small bridge arching over the tiny brook on one side, and the small run of rapids on the other side. As he walked over the bridge and across the grass, he couldn't help but feel a bit homesick for the tents they had lived in for much of his life. A feeling of futility flooded into him, but what drew him on was the sound of the running water around Pansy Patch Park getting closer and closer.

There seemed to be voices in that water, the voices of two sisters arguing. He thought of the last moments of his mother's life, slipping under the water, drowning, and then, strangely enough, he thought about his aunt living beside the place where she had pushed her sister in. The guilt must have been enormous, must _still_ be enormous. Maybe that's why Grandfather Thunder altered her memories, to help her forget.

He stopped at the edge of the small river and examined the opposite shore, looking for any sign of Silverberry.

"You're not going to find her, you know," said the rough voice behind him.

Colin knew he would come, knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself away. He didn't have to turn around to know that Sergeant Peary was there. Colin continued to stare at the far bank. He didn't want anyone to see that he was crying. He felt the silvery image of the ghost crouch down beside him, smelled the rank odor of burning peat mixed with cow dung issuing from the stubby end of his eternally smoldering cigar.

"She's gone you know. I'm sorry."

"I thought she might be," answered Colin a bit listlessly. "I just hoped that I might see her one more time. Union rules?"

"Ah... yes," answered Peary apologetically. "As soon as she divulged who she was, she had to leave."

"But why? Why was she waiting around here all these years? Why couldn't she just tell me?" said Colin trying to hide the emotional quiver in his voice.

"Look, I never knew my sister had kids, twin girls, but somehow, I felt the connection. Now, I'm not too big on family, but if you were to ask me why she was hanging around here, I think it was so she could keep an eye on you, if that's any consolation."

"Why don't you have to disappear? I mean, you now know that I'm your grandnephew, right?"

"Right, well, I sort of have too. Don't worry; those goons at the party will never catch me. If Jerry couldn't get me...,(Peary suddenly remembered that he had indeed been gotten)... well, so far I've managed to avoid them on this side. Listen, kid," Colin felt the gentle, feathery pressure of a hand on his shoulder and he turned to face the ghost, "I'm not going anywhere until this thing with the Old Man is sorted out and you're no longer in danger. How could I do less for such a great nephew?"

Colin looked behind himself for the great nephew, and turned back to Peary trying not to crack a smile. "Thanks, Sar -- Great Uncle Peary."

Colin crouched down close to the ground and pulled a long piece of dried grass from the bluff overlooking the river. Fiddling with it, he asked, "So, what's next?" For a second, he felt the urge to tell the ghost about the conversation he had had with himself in the broken tower, but a whispering voice slipped into his head and told him not to.

"Well," the muscles around Peary's square chin tightened as they did when the soldier thought, "I think, you need to get back to the house and confront Frederick. The one big mistake between my dad and me is that we never had it out. I never told him what I thought of him--not that it would've changed anything, but maybe it would've helped somewhat."

"How do you know about my Dad? I just found out."

Sergeant Peary pointed to his head. "Not much stuff up stairs, but I can walk through walls and my hearing is quite good."

Colin took in a deep breath and shoved himself upward from the crouch he was in. He realized that the ghost was right. He had known intuitively that his mother was gone, that by coming down here all he was doing was avoiding Frederick.

Suddenly he noticed that Sergeant Peary had grown tense, aware of some other supernatural presence in the area. No sooner had the soldier disappeared than the two tall ghosts with long coats and stovepipe hats appeared. They glowered down at Colin, their accusing black eyes boring into him. Without saying a word they almost wrested the conversation and the mental image of Sergeant Peary from his mind. Colin felt his true guardian spirit surging up inside him and inadvertently he opened his mouth to let a little slip out. The wind came, bent the trees over and blew the two ghosts away like two tiny fragile flames. Before the wind took them, Colin had let slip the image of Sergeant Peary on holiday across the ocean, sipping on a cool drink beneath the Eiffel tower. He hoped he had bought his friend some time.

Colin felt a small surge of victory, but that emotion was soon dampened as he trudged back up the hill, toward the house and to the inevitable meeting with his father.

By the time he got back, things at The Circus of the Moon had heated up. Holdfast and Magenta had wheeled out a gigantic cannon and were in the process of stuffing a helmeted Spike into it. Rhea stood behind the cannon, a smoldering fuse in her hand. Frederick was in the process of explaining something, but it was Holdfast that caught Colin's eye first, discreetly shaking his head in the negative.

_He didn't know,_ thought Colin, and his heart leapt up into his mouth, causing all the fearful disappointment and feelings of rejection that had been building in him to disappear. Frederick noticed the slight motion and turned to confront Colin, a disapproving scowl on his face.

"You and I need to talk, young man, now," he said abandoning the cannon and marching Colin off to where they couldn't be seen.

The other performers were practicing on ropes they had suspended from a large metal superstructure that had been erected on the grounds. They looked like spiders climbing the ropes, winding the ropes about themselves and then twirling to the ground like yo-yos.

"You ever hear the saying, give someone enough rope and they just might hang themselves?" asked Frederick in a direct tone. "Why did you skip practice? You know how little time we have left."

Colin stared at his father, not knowing what to say. Just the fact that this was his father kept his mouth shut. He shrugged. The image of his aunt being hung jerked into his head.

Frederick must have interpreted the shrug as indifference because the action seemed to irritate him further. "Skipping out on Maestro is bad enough, but not showing up for practice as well...." He shook his head. "You've disappointed me. We only have a few days left and we still don't have the plan worked out!"

With this, all the puff and bluster seemed to go out of Frederick and he sagged. Colin realized that he wasn't all that upset with him. It was more the pressure of not having the subplot nailed down that was getting to him. Colin had no idea how to bring up the father/son thing, so he didn't.

"I'm sorry," said Colin. "I just had some important things to take care of-–family business, if you know what I mean."

Frederick waved his hand in acknowledgment and nodded. "I know what you're talking about. Being Clown Master is like being the father of everyone here. It gets pretty weighty sometimes. Do me a favor? In the future, just tell me when you're going to skip out. It'll save me from worrying. Although it didn't bother Maestro much, I was ready to send the entire troop scouring the town for you."

"I promise."

"Great!" he said jumping to his feet and rubbing his hands together, "but that still doesn't solve our present predicament. What are we going to do?" he said more to himself than anyone.

The voice in Colin's head, sounding distinctly like the one in the mirror, whispered: "A coronation, a coronation."

"A coronation?" repeated Colin.

"A coronation?" said Frederick who took a moment to mull it over. His eyes grew brighter and brighter as the idea sunk in. "It's perfect! He won't be able to refuse a coronation, and it'll fit perfectly into Maestro's greater plot!" Frederick beamed at him with visible pride. "A coronation! How did you come up with such a clever idea?"

"It popped into my head," offered Colin.

"Right, excellent, now, off to work. We'd better get back there before someone gets hurt."

Just then a large 'BANG' vibrated through the air followed by a half-fearful, half-sublime shout. They looked up to see Spike sailing over their heads. He overshot the netting set up to catch him and crashed into the boughs of an ancient spruce tree. He looked like a rag doll as he fell through the branches and made a dull thud as he hit the ground where he lay motionless.

Frederick and Colin ran over to him, but they weren't the first ones to reach him. Descending out of the air, Ofelia and Melissa lighted next to Spike. They were dressed in startling white robes. His face twisted in pain as he regained consciousness. His right arm was turned in an impossible angle.

"Any other place than the arm?" asked Ofelia, her hands hovering over his body.

In short, painful gasps, he said, "The....ribs!"

"Sssh," said Ofelia. "Don't talk. Just tell me with your thoughts." She turned to Melissa and nodded.

Melissa bent over her brother, holding out her hands just over the broken arm. A strange mellifluous sound filled the space around them, a harmonious chorus of voices. In fact, Colin could see the airwaves fluctuating around Spike's wound, like ripples on the surface of the water. The expression of pain left his face and inexplicably the arm became straight again. Melissa then moved her hands over his ribcage, undoubtedly healing his broken ribs.

Colin was just about to use his sight to get a closer look, find out how they were fixing Spike, when Frederick put his hand on his shoulder. "That's not a good idea. It would be like looking into the sun--not too good for the eyes."

Colin was seized with delight to know that he shared this gift with his father.

Then the music was gone, and Spike was sitting up flexing his arm, testing it. He smiled. "It's gone, the pain I mean. How did you do it?"

Melissa just smiled mystically and floated off into the air followed by a grinning Ofelia.

"Rescue workers," said Frederick knowingly, pulling Spike up to his feet, "if you've got a breath left in your body, they can fix you. If you're just-dead, then we have to get Maestro to bring you back."

"Maestro can bring people back from the dead?" asked Colin.

"Not the long-dead, not even the medium-dead, only the just-dead," said Frederick.

Holdfast, Magenta and Rhea rushed up to them, concern on their faces. "I'm so sorry!" said the big man, "I must've got the powder-to-mass ratio wrong. Oh well, no great harm, eh? Ready for another go?" he said hopefully.

Spike looked at the big man as though he was mad.

"Put the canon gun away, Holdfast. No need to be flailing about like the lost! I've just been given a perfect idea by my young friend here!"

Colin felt the Clown Master's arm around his shoulders and in that moment couldn't remember anything feeling so assuring.

"What are we going to do?" asked Magenta, her pink lips pursing in worry.

"A coronation! We're going to have a coronation!"

Excitedly, his hands gesturing in the air, Frederick started to put the performance together. It was like someone stringing a necklace of different colored beads together. The thread, itself, was the theme of the coronation, but the beads were humorous events or sketches that got them from one point to another. All this would take place in the greater context of the main plot, everything hanging together, the main plot and subplot, by the hinge of Zuhayer Horwood.

At first Colin thought it was going to be rather patchy, but as they practiced the individual parts, the seams, which joined the pieces, began to disappear, replaced by a continuous smoothness. After this, it was back to lessons.

During a break, Rhea sat down beside Colin and they watched Magenta and Holdfast do the "dog routine." Magenta had her little poodle, while Holdfast had Spike, who was pretending to be a dog. It was an interesting bit, because Frederick was flipping the normal perception of things, so that eventually the audience would see that it was not the owners taking the dogs for a walk, but the dogs that were walking their owners. Colin saw the humor in it, but couldn't stop thinking about his father and how he was going to tell him he was his son.

"I'm sorry," whispered Rhea. "Spike told me. What are you going to do now?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe nothing."

"You've got to tell him. He has a right to know," said Rhea forcefully.

"I don't have to tell him anything," said Colin tersely. "Listen, just a while ago, I thought my parents were dead. If I tell him, things might change. Maybe I like things the way they are," lied Colin.

They didn't hear Maestro coming up behind them, until he spoke. His quiet, rich, voice seemed to not only fill the air around them but resonated in their heads as well.

"It appears Frederick has solved his puzzle. Rhea, do you mind if I have a chat with our truant student?"

Rhea got to her feet, excused herself, and left.

Colin watched her go, wishing she would stay. Maestro was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

"I'm sorry for missing class this morning. I just had some things to work out," explained Colin, hoping that he could shorten the conversation. Every time Maestro talked to him, it felt as though he was searching for something. After his encounter with the mirror, suspicions about Maestro had grown.

"Not, to worry. We were just working on the concept of levitation, just the theory, and not the practice. It's nothing that you can't catch up on."

Maestro was now sitting by his side, and thankfully, his hood was covering his face. The poodle and Spike were getting Magenta and Holdfast to jump through hoops, which they managed with incredible dexterity.

"I've talked to Frederick," began Maestro. "He has told me about the coronation idea."

This startled Colin because at no time since returning to the camp had he seen Frederick with Maestro; then he remembered how Grizzelda had called Marcus when she wanted to see the house.

"Can you read my mind?" asked Colin, his mouth going dry.

Maestro chuckled, "No, not unless you let me. It's like this...."

Colin felt the sensation of someone knocking at a door, but the door was inside his head. He thought the word 'yes' and Maestro's voice flooded into his head.

"Don't worry, I won't look into any rooms that I shouldn't go into."

Colin felt a cold fear slide into his body. Did he know about his encounter in the broken tower? "Rooms?"

"Yes, the mind is divided into a number of compartments--a number of locked compartments. Within each one there are different thoughts, different experiences, different potentials. It's like Zuhayer's broken tower." Maestro paused. "Now, I was wondering if I could ask you a question. When I was young, I learned that there were no such things as coincidences, that everything happens for a purpose. I would just like to know why you suggested the theme of a coronation to Frederick?"

Colin shrugged. This was a perfect time to answer a question with a question. "Where is Faerie?"

Maestro paused discerningly, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer from Colin. "Faerie is what is beyond _Inbetween_."

***

During lunch, while they were chewing on their sandwiches brought by Ofelia, Colin decided to confess to Spike and Rhea. The pressure of keeping secret the encounter with himself in the broken tower was building inside him, and he needed to tell someone he trusted. He had managed to dance around the issue with Maestro, but since his encounter with the image in the mirror his suspicions about Grandfather Thunder and Maestro not being trustworthy had been growing stronger.

"You must be crazy!" said Spike rubbing his hand through his hair and shaking his head, "G.T. is on _our_ side, and Maestro, even though his face is creepy, seems all right. I'll tell you who I think is giving off some questionable vibes, Colin...," said Spike, stopping abruptly, realizing what he was saying. He didn't want to attack his best friend.

Colin immediately appealed to Rhea, looking straight into her eyes for support. She only shrugged haplessly. "He does have a point you know."

"So, I'm the one not to be trusted?" said a wounded and a little bit bitter Colin, who rose to his feet, anger beginning to roil inside him. "I expected you guys to know me better than that, but I guess I was wrong!"

"Sit down!" barked Rhea taking command of the situation and sounding exactly like her Grandma. "We're not saying you're the one not to trust," then she continued in a more patient tone, "but just think about it, where did you see yourself?"

"The tower."

"Whose tower?"

Then he understood. "Zuhayer's tower."

"Exactly!" pointed out Rhea, "In fact, this morning Maestro mentioned to us that a person's mind resembles a place with many locked compartments.

Colin looked at both his friends, a coldness creeping up over him. "You think the broken tower is the inside of Zuhayer's mind?"

"Even I think that's crazy," said Spike finishing off his sandwich.

Rhea suppressed her irritation and went on. "No, not literally, but how did you know that the image in the mirror was you?"

"It knew things about me that only I could know."

Rhea put her sandwich down, chewing on her lip. "You know what I'd like to do?"

"What? Score a few goals in the final against the Terminators tonight?" proposed Spike.

"No, I'd like to see that mirror; after all, my mom is a psychologist. I've read some of her books. There's something odd in your story and I'd like to see that mirror myself."

***

It was as though they were expected--the doorway through the brick wall at the end of the house was open, as was the entrance to the tower room with the looking glass. His heart was beating like a jackhammer as they entered.

"Go ahead," said Rhea encouraging him, "go talk to yourself."

"I don't know if it works like that."

The truth was Colin didn't want to go anywhere near the mirror. He didn't want any more life-changing revelations, and so, he hesitated.

"I'll go," said Spike striding up to the mirror and summarily knocking on the flat surface with his fist. He put his ear against the surface, looked at himself and then stuck out his tongue.

Colin looked apprehensively at Rhea, but all she did was shrug. "Maybe being shot out of the cannon addled his brains," offered Rhea.

Spike turned around, his back to the mirror.

"There's nothing in there. Say, if Sergeant Peary is you're great uncle, doesn't that make Zuhayer you're..."

Spike never got a chance to finish the sentence, because appearing in the mirror was the adult form of Colin, a dark, incensed fury on his face. A hand shot out of the mirror and clipped Spike on the side of the head, knocking him to the floor.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, picking himself up and glaring at the mirror, but the image was gone, leaving only their startled-looking reflections.

"Did you see that?" asked Colin.

"I think so," responded Rhea.

"See what? What hit me?" demanded Spike.

"I think I hit you," Colin admitted a bit bewildered.

Before Rhea or Spike could do anything, Colin found himself walking to the mirror and extending his fingers into its surface. The previous experience at Halloween, of stepping through the looking glass and being clothed as his guardian spirit, had convinced him not to expect a hard surface to this mirror, either. The surface rippled away from his touch in concentric circles, as if the looking glass, which hung at a slight angle, was really a pond defying gravity.

"Colin, I don't know if that's such a good idea," said Rhea warily.

Something grabbed him, a type of suctioning force, and began to pull him into the mirror. He felt the hands of his friends on his shoulder, trying to pull him back, but his momentum couldn't be stopped; all three, Colin, Rhea and Spike fell into the mirror.

"Wow!" exclaimed Spike looking around from where he was on his knees, "what is this place?"

Rhea was also craning her neck to get a good look in all directions.

Colin knew where they were. He had been here when Grandfather Thunder had given him the Phoenix tear pendant Rhea now wore round her neck. They were _Inbetween_. The sky was a flat, cloudless, pewter gray, and the earth they stood on was broken and cracked with thirst as though rain had ceased to exist. In all directions, there was nothing but a straight line marking the horizon. It seemed that they were the only ones in existence--if this could be called existence.

"I don't like this," said Rhea watchfully. "How do we get out of here?"

"That's the problem," replied Colin, "I have no idea."

"What? We're stuck here? No water? No food?" Spike whined.

"Distance is different here. It's like this place has its own separate rules," explained Colin taking a step, not really understanding.

Colin stared and then began to turn. Rhea and Spike suddenly vanished.

"Hey!" yelled Colin trying to remain composed.

"We're right here. Step forward," said Rhea, her disconnected voice floating in the air.

He hesitated, but it did sound like Rhea's voice, so he took a step. Sure enough, Spike and Rhea appeared right in front of him, but everything had changed.

The baked earth was gone, replaced by a carefully manicured lawn. On the horizon was the Phoenix tree.

Around Rhea's neck the Phoenix tear was glowing red. She stared at it, entranced. Pointing to the necklace, she said, "Is this supposed to be happening?"

A heavy wind suddenly pressed down around them tugging on their clothes like unseen fingers, bringing with it a feeling of dark malevolence. In the wind were voices, thousands of voices, none of them friendly. Rhea moved in closer to Colin and Spike. Her hair whipped violently across her face. Spike had turned pale and was shivering, staring out at the horizon. On one distant point, the conical spout of a black dirt devil twisted into view. It quickly grew larger, coming directly at them. Then they spotted other spouts on the horizon, all coming at them; the entire plain seemed populated with them, no matter in which direction they looked. They were surrounded. As the whirlwinds came closer, they saw that spinning in the spiraling fury of each dirt devil were the blurred images of innumerable Shadow Nixes.

"Run for the tree!" yelled Colin.

Over the earth, feet barely touching the grass, legs blurring with speed, they ran. They made it beneath the skeletal fingers of the leafless tree just a few meters ahead of the dirt devils. Above them, the wide, circular aerie sheltered their heads. The Shadow Nixes detached themselves from the spinning winds and now circled them hungrily. Even though the funnels of wind had gone away, the soughing sound of malevolent voices still filled the air. Every now and then one of them would make a dash in trying to grab at their arms or legs, desperate to make contact with them.

"Don't let them touch you!" shouted Colin.

"Don't worry," answered Rhea, the alarm rising in her voice, "I have no intention of letting them touch me!" She jumped to the side avoiding shadowy fingers.

Spike had his eyes closed. His lips moved forming words but no sounds. As though answering his silent plea, his guardian Coyote sprung out from behind the tree, and took the foot of one of the Nixes in its jaws and sent it flying. The Coyote seemed to laugh as it jumped into the fray chasing the Nixes around frantically.

"He's going to need backup," shouted Spike over the terrible keening voices that had just pitched up an angry octave, "there are too many of them!"

Sure enough, where Coyote went the Shadow Nixes simply withdrew, while the others collapsed in on the tree, taking their turn lunging at them. It was only a matter of time before they made contact, even with Coyote. Colin tried to call Sergeant Peary, but it was as though there was a thick wall between them, stopping them from communicating.

One Shadow Nix slipped past Coyote and made another slithering dash at Rhea and was just about to wrap its black fingers about her ankle when a glowing nimbus of red light burst about her. The Shadow Nixes withdrew, wailing in infuriated surprise. Coyote, who had just locked its jaws on a scrawny black leg, was joyously dragging the Nix back and forth in front of the tree. As quickly as it had come, the glow about Rhea faded.

"What was that?" asked Colin staring at his friend.

Rhea looked a little frazzled, her teardrop pendant was not only glowing, but also pulsing. She pointed to it. "Why is it doing that? What's happening?"

Colin looked up at the aerie. "I think, maybe, your guardian is coming."

"I sure hope so," said Rhea looking scared.

"This is where your guardian lives. Grandfather Thunder and I came here once before; he was seeking the pendant your guardian made for you," explained Colin.

"Well, I hope it gets here soon, because those Nixes are attacking again," said Spike, "and we're going to need the help."

Sure enough, Coyote was beginning to fade, to become indistinct; and the Shadow Nixes were now closing in. They were about to be overwhelmed by the rising crest of a black wave, powered by a sea of Nixes, when the Phoenix arrived.

Announced by a musical cry that vibrated through the air and shivered through the Nixes, the indistinct form of the Phoenix appeared high in the sky. It plummeted to the earth leaving behind its distinctive contrail of orange-red flame; its long beak pointed at the Nixes like a spear. While the most fearful of the Nixes fled, some hesitated. When Rhea and the boys realized that the flaming phoenix showed no sign of slowing, and was now coming at them like a javelin, it was too late to get out of its way. At the last moment the great bird, its form about the size of the massive aerie, looked as if it would crash into them; but instead, the bird began to taper in size, becoming smaller and smaller. Still it sped at them like a small, deadly, fiery dart.

"Watch out!" cried Colin when he realized the Phoenix was aiming itself directly at Rhea's chest. With Maestro's story of how he had been blinded echoing its warning voice in his head, Colin wasn't sure if Rhea was in danger or not; but he wasn't going to take any chances. He stepped in front of her.

Two things happened. By stepping in front of her he put himself that much closer to the few Shadow Nixes, which had brashly remained behind, and he stumbled and fell. Arms flailing for balance, he fell forward. He saw it coming, but couldn't do anything about it. A Shadow Nix was reaching for him. Simultaneously their hands came together and the last thing Colin remembered was a sneering, mocking voice echoing everywhere, then being swept up by an impenetrable darkness.

Rhea heard Colin's cry too late. She reached for him as he stumbled; but the phoenix, now the size of a small insect hit Rhea's pendant, knocking her backwards. An ensuing explosion of red light enveloped them and she too lost consciousness.

Spike and his panting guardian Coyote surveyed the silent aftermath of the battle. Gone were the Shadow Nixes, the Phoenix and the aerie. They had shifted location again. Rhea and Colin were stretched out, supine on the grass. Then he realized where he was standing, the toes of his shoes on the edge of a cliff that plummeted a thousand feet down into a surging, white-crested sea. He inched himself backwards, all the while repeating, "Easy does it old boy, easy does it!" and turned seeking the security of his guardian spirit, but Coyote had disappeared. The rattle of wood on wood sounded behind him and he twirled about.

Grandfather Thunder stood up from his cross-legged sitting position. The head on his staff was that of a serpent, and its eyes shone a bright blue. While the staff seemed ominous, Grandfather Thunder greeted him with a grave smile, a look of concern on his face.

"I was wondering when you three would make it here." He walked tensely up to Rhea and Colin. Alternately he held the head of the staff over Rhea and Colin. The snake seemed to be examining them. Over Rhea, the eyes flickered from blue through all the colors of the rainbow and back to blue. As the snake examined Colin, the eyes stopped at red, a dark blood red. Grandfather Thunder shook his head sadly and sighed heavily.

Chapter Eighteen: Jaeger

Indistinct images of faces and colors swirled about his head. As well, he heard voices but, like the images, he was unable to make sense of them. The faces were focused on him, staring down at him from what seemed to be the top of a deep well. He tried to get a grip on the sides of the rough cylindrical brick wall, but dark hands held him fast. It was hard for him to breathe. Panic tightened in his chest. Then, from where the faces and voices were, a flash of light blazed down into the well causing the shadows that held him down to screech in pain and flee. Freed from their grasp, he felt himself rising effortlessly, buoyantly, to the top. He awoke.

Colin rubbed his eyes as he focused on the concerned faces of Spike, Rhea, and Maestro... and someone else, someone who had been there, but was not there now. He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye as someone left the caravan he was in, and recognized it as the form of his aunt.

Maestro's caravan was a garden, perfectly arranged to give the greatest effect. It was as though an artist had been given living things, instead of paints, and told to create peace and harmony. The result exuded a feeling of sense and purpose. A small waterfall gurgled and tinkled melodically in the background, filling a tiny pond whose surface was festooned with lily pads, and its depths flashed brilliantly with gold, orange, and white fish, their long fantails beckoning in the water. There was a little white bridge that crossed the stream to a small island that the pond surrounded. Miniature trees kept small through exact pruning had taken on shapes that gave the eyes a soothing caress. From where he lay on a small bamboo mat, Colin let his hand touch one of the paving stones beneath him. It was cool. He noticed that all the stones were matched with a complimentary theme: the rough beside the smooth, the dark beside the light. Each unique part of the garden added to the whole to create an entire calmness that helped chase away his bad dream... almost. The hands were still lurking, just on the edge of the garden's influence.

"What's the sense," said Colin groggily, blinking his eyes to get rid of the sleep there.

"Excuse me?" Maestro chuckled, his deep rich voice seeming to be part of the garden itself.

"You're blind," he said. "You can't see any of this, so what's the point?" With a great effort, Colin sat up. Even though the hands were no longer holding him, a miserable feeling was still inside him.

"Whether I can see or not isn't the point," he responded kindly, patiently. "The point is: I can feel, I can smell, and I can tell when things are in harmony and when things are in discord," he said, turning his scarred face to him as though he could see. Maestro dismissed Spike and Rhea, gesturing them towards the door and quietly saying as he pointed from Colin to himself, "He and I need to talk."

A feeling of restlessness, resentment, sprang to life in Colin. Normally, he would have acquiesced to Maestro's authority, but not this time. It was as though the voice that had whispered to him had somehow become part of him; it was almost indiscernible from whom he was. He shook his head. "No, I have no secrets from my friends. I want them to stay."

Maestro hesitated and then nodded. "As you wish," and turning to Rhea, he continued, "I was going to tell you this separately, because things concerning guardian spirits are of a personal nature. Rhea, Colin, the reason I have strongly advised you not to employ your guardians is because they are too strong to be handled merely by personality. They contain, especially the Phoenix and yours, Colin, too much energy. That's why you have the phoenix tear necklace, Rhea. When you described what happened, its purpose became clear. Your necklace is what I would call a 'step down' transformer. In your battle with the Nixes beneath the aerie, your guardian came to your aid and entered into your necklace. You can now safely call on your guardian for protection because the necklace acts to mitigate the full force of the Phoenix."

Colin felt an odd resentment rising in him. After the encounter with himself in the mirror, he had felt wary of Maestro, but this emotion was different. It was much more intense. It was malevolent, selfish, and contentious.

"What about Spike and Melissa? They don't need anything to help with their spirits."

Maestro paused. "Yes, that is true. They come from a different culture, a culture that is still close to the energy that forms the guardians. You could say they are their own amulets. You and Rhea, on the other hand, are different."

"What about me?" said Colin, the resentment inside him turning into anxious energy. He suddenly wanted to escape from everyone and everything. "It wants out, so why can't I just let it out?"

"Because, right now, it would kill you! Inadvertently of course, but it would still kill you. I know! Remember what my guardian did to me?"

"So, what am I to do?" asked Colin feeling bewildered.

"Your amulet will come to you, in the moment of your greatest need, and then you'll be ready to call your guardian forth. Until then, you must continue to fight the urge to use it. I tell you this because, with the impending performance, and Zuhayer's return, the temptation will be great, but right now, that's the least of our worries."

Colin could feel the air around them become thick with anticipatory tension, so thick that it was almost impossible to move. "What do you mean?"

"Beneath the aerie, you touched, or one of the Shadow Nixes, touched you. Do you know what that means?"

Colin shook his head. "I know only what Grandfather Thunder told us." The disagreeable part of him was now crouched down in some corner in his head trying to be invisible, gnashing its teeth.

"And what did he tell you?"

"Never to let a Shadow Nix touch you because they can make you very unhappy."

Maestro nodded. "He only told you part of it. You're still young and he probably didn't want to frighten you with the whole truth. When people die naturally--not like Zuhayer--they go to another place and continue their existence; however, the ones who do terrible things while they are alive, never truly leave. They become...,"

"Shadow Nixes," finished Rhea, "but why do they want to touch us?"

"Because, they want to live again, and they can only imitate life again by becoming parasites, by taking over the body of those they touch. Unfortunately, Colin, right now, you have a Nix inside you."

The Nix inside him started to scream silently, furious at being revealed.

"Can't you get it out?"

"It depends on how strong the Nix is, or was. The one inside you is very strong, and it will try to take over your personality. I'm afraid you're in for a bit of a fight, but if you can win the fight, the Nix will leave. It will try to find somebody weaker."

"So, what do I do now?" asked Colin, his panic rising again. "I mean, how do I fight it?"

"Don't listen to it, learn to differentiate its thoughts from your own, and be positive. Think of good things, things that make you happy. Shadow Nixes hate that. Not to worry, I have a good feeling that the Nix will be out of your system in the next two days."

"The next two days?"

"Yes, events of strong import seem to accelerate the process. Rhea tells me that tonight you have a big game?"

Rhea, who had been absorbed in what Maestro had been saying, broke out of her pensive trance. "Oh, of course! We're playing the Terminators for the indoor championship."

"Well, I suggest you get ready," said Maestro.

"That's it? I just go about my routine? I just go and play soccer like nothing else is going on?"

"Why, yes, I think so," but then he leaned in close and whispered into his ear, "but beware the voice, and those hands trying to hold you back. You'll be doing battle on more than one level: You will fight against the Nix within...and the Nix in others."

***

Colin tried to ignore the raucous crowd, not that he found the cheering embarrassing. He rather appreciated Holdfast, Magenta, and the rest of the circus troupe that crowded into the limited space around the indoor field; but he found the presence of Frederick distracting. He didn't know what to feel. He wanted to do well, to impress his father, obtain his approval, but he felt awkward. Then the voice inside him whispered. It was somewhat different than before, not so external, but somehow part of him, trying to speak for him. It was him -- but not him.

"Why should I care? He's never been anything to me."

Colin shook his head trying to get the malcontent buzzing out of his head. If this was anything what Grizzelda was going through...

"Are you all right?" asked Rhea.

In the game preparations, as the Terminators were moving to their bench, Edge brushed up against Colin, knocking him off balance. Usually, he could ignore such intrusions by Edge--and Edge, prudently, had given him a wide birth ever since being flattened by The Wind--but this time it was different; Colin wasn't able to ignore him. Edge simply stood there, taunting him. Irritated, because this was the last thing he wanted to deal with, he turned on Edge and the person standing beside him.

The same self-satisfied, arrogant smirk was on Edge's face. "I'd like you losers to meet somebody. He's a relative of mine, just visiting for the weekend. This is Gunter Jaeger. Say hello to Rain... I mean, Colin Blunder... oops! I mean, Colin... what is your last name anyhow?"

Gunter was smaller than Edge, and rather slender, but there was something reptilian in his eyes that said he was going to be a formidable opponent.

Colin put out his hand to Gunter but the boy refused to shake his hand.

"Yeah, right!" said Edge sarcastically, putting his hand out for a high five from Gunter, who didn't respond to that either. Nonplused Edge stumbled with his thought then a little bit embarrassed recovered. "He's going to be playing today."

"You can't do that!" protested Rhea. "You can't bring in a ringer for the last game!"

Edge's cynical grin spread wide across his face. "Yes, actually, I can! Read your rules, Rusty. In the case of sickness, you can replace a player with anyone, as long as they are within the age limit. So, see you on the field, dipsticks."

Colin watched them as they walked away. He shook his head. "As if I care," he said tying up the laces on his shoes, but the coolness in the new boy bothered him.

"You _should_ care," admonished Rhea, "unless you want to lose."

Colin looked over to where the Terminators were setting up. Coach Bone was staring at him. Those eyes in his ruddy flesh, captured him, held him. It was as though he was trying to tell him something, to pass on a secret message, a type of understanding only they shared. Bile rose up into Colin's throat. As if he would ever want to share anything in common with him, he turned away to break the connection.

"That was really weird," he mumbled.

"What?" asked Rhea.

"Coach Bone winked at me."

"Why would he do that?" asked Rhea screwing up her face and looking over at the man.

"I don't know," he said irritably, which he immediately regretted.

Grandma Li held her book, ready for reading during the game. During the season, she had made it through several books. This one, as did the others, looked particularly interesting. On it was a dragon coiled about a mountain of gold. Steam curled out of the dragon's nostrils, and one of its eyes was partially open. Colin couldn't stop staring at the cover.

"Interesting, neh?" shouted Grandma Li. (Rhea said she was partially deaf, but Colin suspected the little woman just liked to be heard.) "Good reading! Not all dragons are the same, neh? Some are good, but some need to be slain. Now, gather round, we have game to win! Where is ghost boy? Can't start without mascot! Bad luck, very bad luck!"

Just then Sergeant Peary 'POPPED' out of the air startling Tan, jarring his thick glasses askew. Sergeant Peary was wearing a big red/white/and pink flower-patterned dress, with a kerchief and sunglasses on his head to disguise his features. Its effectiveness was negligible because of the dusty army boots that weren't adequately covered by the hem of the garment, and the smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth.

Ruffled and harried looking, he offered his apologies, "Sorry for being late, but the Union goons are hot on my trail. I might not be able to stay for the entire game, but I'll try," he said scanning the crowd.

"You look like Principal Devonish," giggled Rhea.

"Thanks," said Peary dryly.

"Now, lean in your heads so I can give plans," said Grandma Li. She did this before each game. For someone that seemed unaware of what was going on, she was keenly observant. "Now, it look like red and black team..."

"The Terminators," interrupted Rhea.

Grandma Li made a sour face as if she had just eaten something that disagreed with her. "Stupid name! They sound like those people that kill bugs! Now listen, they have hotshot boy. He is very good. Has his own guardian spirit, same as Bullyboy has his. They will be hard to stop, but remember who you are. Trust in your selves. Trust in your instincts. Try not to win and you will win. Let go of victory and you will win! On three," she said sticking her hand into the pile of hands in the center of their wheel. "One, two, three, NOODLES!"

The other teams had ridiculed their name, but now it was a matter of pride, and vengeance. No matter what the Noodles were called--Chicken Noodles, Wet Noodles, Noodle Heads, or Noodle Legs--they had gained a high level of respect.

As Colin walked to midfield with Rhea, the big voice of Holdfast boomed in the background, "Go get 'em!" which was followed by a wild raucous shouting and applause. The circus knew how to have a good time. Rhea felt a bit embarrassed as she stepped up to the referee that was looking at them questioningly.

"Relatives," she said shrugging apologetically.

Edge, his hair spiked with gel, stared at them angrily, as though they had no right being there. Gunter Jaeger's face was emotionless. "He's _my_ co-captain," said Edge glaring at Rhea. "Got a problem with that, Rusty?"

She shook her head. "Just as long as you don't have a problem with losing."

"I want a clean game," said the referee asserting his authority. "You," he motioned to Rhea, "call the toss in the air before it hits the ground."

Behind Edge flickered the ghostly image of a rooster, but Jaeger's spirit guardian lurked, ominously, giving the impression of being stealthy, and fast.

The coin spun in the air, and just before it bounced on the artificial grass, Rhea called, "heads."

It was tails.

Edge flicked the ball up into the air, over Rhea and Colin, even over Spike and Chloe who had confidently moved up (perhaps a little too confidently) from Tan. Before they could react there was a blur, an intense feeling of manic energy burning past them, and Jaeger was driving the ball towards a surprised, wide-eyed Tan. Fortunately, Tan's Samurai guardian spirit was there, guiding his arms, barely getting them in front of the ball to knock it down where he scooped it up.

Because Grandma Li didn't want to expend any timeouts, she sent Sergeant Peary floating over to the net to talk to the defense.

"Listen, that boy there, Jaeger, has the Black Hunter as his guardian spirit, deadly fast and very intense. You'll have to play back."

Sure enough, the dark blur behind Jaeger had solidified into what looked like a black panther.

"Come on keeper, move the ball," said the referee who seemed to be calling more and more infractions against the Noodles, much to the displeasure of the circus performers. While Edge's face was full of smug satisfaction, Jaeger's still held no emotion. There was something peculiar about this kid, and as the game progressed, Colin seemed to see a pattern in his play, a pattern that had Jaeger dogging his every move. Every time Colin made a dash down the center to receive a pass from Spike or Chloe, or to take a lob from Rhea, Jaeger was there. After about the fifth interception Rhea stopped trying to get the ball to Colin through the air, because the kid was just too fast; but this wasn't the peculiar part. The part that caused the tiny hairs on his arms to rise in alarm was what he did once the Terminators got the ball: he did exactly what Colin had just done. If he had gone down the center, Jaeger would test their center. If he tried the side, Jaeger would try it. It was as though the kid was Colin's shadow, except for the unmistakable fact that Jaeger was a better player. Spike and Chloe had their hands full dealing with Jaeger's lightning dashes. Without them and, of course, Tan's acrobatics, much to the delight of the circus entertainers, especially the bellowing Magenta, the game would have already been lost.

On top of this difficulty, there was the incessant voice of the Nix in Colin's head. It kept mentioning, at great lengths, how _he_ would deal with the matter, how it would be easy to trip Jaeger, how no one would see it, how _he_ could simply hurt him badly enough to force him out of the game. At first, Colin had been able to dismiss the voice, but it was only a matter of time before Jaeger or Edge scored, and he doubted, the way things were going, that he would be able to resist the tempting negative thoughts for long. Self-doubt was beginning to wear away at him from the inside. He was beginning to resent and blame those around him, to question their efforts.

"Why can't you get me the ball?" he hissed impatiently at Rhea after another fizzled-out drive. Tan was stalling; pretending there was something wrong with the ball, trying to give his team more time to organize before kicking it.

Rhea, her eyes initially wide with surprise, narrowed them. "You're no cripple. Why don't _you_ go after him?" she said bitingly, indicating Jaeger who wasn't even sweating.

A long whistle sounded and everybody stopped. The referee had something to say. He ran over to Tan, whose eyes behind his thick glasses seemed even more buggy than usual, reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow card for delay of the game. The crowd erupted.

"You can't do that!" bellowed Holdfast as he pushed his considerable bulk to the sideline. Grandma Li stopped the big man from crashing onto the field with a flick of her hand. She casually looked up from her book and arched an eyebrow in mild interest. Holdfast bent over as she whispered something into his ear. The mollified Holdfast gave a nod with a satisfied grunt.

The referee, believing he had won the battle, signaled for the game to continue. Tan kicked the ball.

There was an ugly darkness growing inside him. Colin felt it bubbling to the surface, bursting into an idea. Yes, why didn't he go after Jaeger? Maybe he should take him out, when the referee wasn't looking.

Colin bided his time, waited until the action moved away from him, and just as the referee turned his back, he ran up to Jaeger and gave him a bump. He felt an immense satisfaction in it. Jaeger seemed to notice him for the first time.

"Sorry," said Colin falsely. He was beginning to hate himself.

Jaeger nodded and gave him a frigid smile that left Colin numb. The boy seemed to know exactly what was going on. The ball spun back to Jaeger, who quickly found the opportunity to return the bump Colin had given him.

Chloe and Spike double-teamed him, but Jaeger was able to get the ball to Edge who had a good shot on net. Again, Tan sailed through the air, thick eyeglasses perched on the edge of his nose, making an amazing stop. Again Colin saw the image of the samurai warrior flickering strongly over Tan.

After the kick, Edge charged the net and hit Tan hard. He pretended to slip, and fell heavily on the slender Tan. The collision had knocked Tan's glasses off and as he groped around blindly for them, Edge stepped on them breaking them into pieces.

Chloe flew through the air and landed on the back of Edge and hammered him hard with her fist, then began to choke him by using the crook of her arm to wrap around his thick neck. Fortunately, Rhea and Spike were between the ref and Chloe so he didn't observe the extent of her 'unsportsmanlike conduct', and they were able to peel Chloe off Edge before he did, but not in time to avoid another penalty. The whistle blew and the referee reached for another yellow card. He was going to give Tan his second card and then a red, which would mean he would no longer be able to play.

In the process of reaching for the yellow card to wave in front of Tan's nearly blind eyes, the referee's face took on a sickly pallor, turning from red to white and then to a yellowish-green. His hand flew to his mouth and his lips tightened, but the vomit flew out of his mouth and all over the pitch. Everybody stepped back, staring with disgust, as the ooze splattered onto their shoes. Coach Bone, first to the aid of the referee, wrapped a towel around the retching man's shoulders and led him off the field. The delay of the game brought the teams back to their collective benches. Colin noticed that Holdfast was patting his stomach and waving his finger at the oblivious referee.

Colin was suddenly, strangely aware of where he was. While everybody was milling about the goal, he stood, detached, simply watching as though this wasn't his fight at all. He also noticed Jaeger was doing the same thing.

A time out was called by Coach Bone.

Grandma Li inserted herself in the circle they had formed and gave them all a good look. Their foreheads were shiny with sweat, exhaustion starting to show in their eyes. They looked and felt as if they were in the middle of a battle, a battle they were losing.

"We can't keep this up forever," breathed out Spike. His tongue looked long and pink, his eyes, the eyes of a coyote, flickering about looking for a solution. "They're breaking us down, slowly, but they're doing it."

"I can't see, and those were my only glasses," lamented Tan.

"I can't believe he was going to give you another card!" said Chloe. "I should've gotten it for jumping on meat head!"

"No, you shouldn't have gotten it," shot in Rhea. "Edge stepped on Tan's glasses. He broke them on purpose!"

Colin said nothing, but the voice inside him was chuckling with glee at the contention.

Grandma Li brought her hands together in a loud detonating clap to gain their attention.

"Yes, all these things are true, and the referee got what he deserved!"

"What did you do, Grandma?" said Rhea.

She shook her head. "No, I only suggested."

"Well, why don't you suggest Edge falls and breaks a leg, or better still, how about that new kid!" proposed Spike.

"There is difference between justice and cheating, and that would be cheating. If you are going to win this game, you have to win fairly or it become lie, and lies and cheating end up in mess on floor. Instead of complaining, ask the question, 'What do I need to do to win?'"

The question led to a heated discussion, but no matter how hard they tried they couldn't come up with anything viable, anything that would actually work.

Colin watched them as though he was looking through someone else's eyes. The voice in his head finally broke through his efforts to suppress it:

Why don't you just trip him, take him out at the ankles. You might get lucky and injure him. Sure, you'll get a red card, but, hey, he's a better player than you.

Surprisingly, Holdfast was squeezing his bulk into a black shirt, which looked as though it was about to burst. He waved a big hand at them as he looped the whistle over his head and it disappeared into the bush of his beard. No one dared tell him he couldn't do what he was intent on doing.

"All right now, let's have a good, _clean_ game!" he said, his voice booming throughout the room as he strode onto the pitch and gave the whistle a great blast.

The nearly sightless Tan kicked the ball high into the air, and Colin made sure to get under it. Jaeger was in the way. When he pressed up against Jaeger, he felt... nothing! He should have felt the heat and the sweat of a working body, but instead, he felt nothing, just a cold, clammy body, and that made him shiver. As the ball came down, he jumped and managed, somehow, to get up above Jaeger. Circus training did have its benefits. The ball came in contact with his head and he tipped the ball over to Rhea who had a good shot on the opposing goal. Unfortunately, the keeper made the save, robbing the Noodles of a goal, but the Nix inside Colin was gleeful, seeing its plan achieved as Colin came crashing down on Jaeger, making sure to land on Jaeger's ankle. The pain he felt in his own ankle was severe and entirely unexpected. Both of them grabbed for their ankles. The voice inside his head was laughing deliriously, as though seeing people hurt was the funniest thing in the world.

"Shut up!" yelled Colin.

Rhea's concerned face loomed over him, framed by the wild red nimbus of her hair. "I didn't say anything."

"It looks like you two boys have badly twisted your ankles," said Holdfast kneeling down. He shook his big hairy head, and then stared into Colin's eyes with penetrating clarity. "Accidents do happen, and regrettably the angels are currently tied up." He had paused on the word accident as though hoping for its validity.

Spike and Rhea lifted Colin up, draped his arms over their shoulders and helped him as he limped painfully towards the sideline. Edge and one of the Terminators were doing the same thing for Jaeger. A smattering of applause grew until the entire field was clapping. It sounded like one great waterfall.

There was a sadness in Rhea eyes; she was looking at him as though she was seeing him in a new light. His heart sank. He could tell she already knew that he had purposely injured Jaeger. He felt ashamed, but the Nix inside him rose up and arrogantly suppressed it. Why should he feel shame?

The only thing he couldn't figure out was how he got injured because he hadn't twisted his ankle at all--it just, sort of, gave out on him. He was lowered down onto the bench beside Grandma Li who quickly removed his shoe, elevated his foot and placed a big pack of ice on it.

"Crazy boy, what did I say about cheating," she whispered intently shaking her head.

Was everybody aware of what he had done? Was it so obvious? He dared not look at his father out of fear of seeing disappointment there. But, what did it matter anyway; the man didn't have a clue he had a son, and if he had known, he probably wouldn't have cared.

"You're not yourself are you?" Grandma Li asked, intently peering into his eyes.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he tried to jerk his head back and avert his eyes but she held his chin with her small hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"No, you are not. You will see Maestro directly after we lose the game, understand?"

"What do you mean lose? We have as much a chance of winning as they do!"

Grandma Li shook her head. "Not now. You upset things. Crazy boy, you upset apple cart. Now, cart must be fixed! It is balance, action, reaction. Understand?"

Colin wanted to say he didn't understand, but he did. It was why Zuhayer Horwood wanting to come back from the dead was wrong, how living forever was wrong, how winning at any cost was wrong. It went against the natural rhythm of things, and he knew that there had to be a correction. But what if the correction didn't happen; what if, despite everyone's efforts, Zuhayer did come back and did manage to become immortal – if that was even possible. What would that do to the balance?

_Well, then,_ said the unctuous voice inside his head, _then a new order would be created now, wouldn't it, and would that be so bad? Who says the old order of life and death is worth keeping anyway?_

Colin was horrified by the cold logic of the voice, not because of what it said but because of its familiarity. It was as though he actually _knew_ the voice. It was as though he was listening to himself, or a part of himself.

"Do you understand?" repeated Grandma Li, squeezing her fingers tighter on his chin until he winced from the pressure. Gratefully, it brought him out of his head and back into the present.

"Yes, I understand."

Nodding her satisfaction, she let go of his chin and resolutely picked up her book with the dragon on the cover, and began to read, oblivious to what was happening on the field.

Not even Holdfast's fair calling of the game could save them. Poor Tan was squinting so hard, but could only see directly in front, anything at any distance was just a blur. Then the defense finally broke down, mainly because Chloe and Spike were exhausted, and the ball went into the net while Tan jumped in the opposite direction. Not even his samurai guardian could pull him back. This goal was all the Terminators needed. They fell back to protect their net, and no matter what Rhea did, she couldn't get it past their keeper. After a few agonizing minutes, it was all over. They had lost the game, and with the game the championship. Grandma Li and the entire Circus crowd were on their feet clapping and cheering. The colorful form of Magenta led the rush onto the field to congratulate the players. Colin didn't see much of it; he was staring down at the ground. The ghostly hand of Sergeant Peary lightly touched his shoulder.

"It isn't your fault, kid. It's not easy having a Nix inside you. I lived with one for most of my youth, until I could get rid of it," he said, surveying the crowd for twin stove pipe hats.

"You lived with a Nix?"

"Sure, my dad was like a Nix. He could get under your skin and try to take over, get you to do what he wanted you to do, not what you wanted to do." His transparent eyes widened as the two massive ghosts from the Union, in their signature hats, appeared on the field.

"Sorry, kid, I've gotta evaporate," said Peary as he did just that.

The Union ghosts also disappeared in close pursuit.

Colin seemed abandoned, alone, even though the place was filled with people either rejoicing or needing consolation. Oddly enough, his ankle didn't hurt anymore. He wondered wryly if Jaeger's ankle was hurting. Standing up, he quietly slipped out of the room, unseen, and--to his way of thinking at that particular moment--unwanted. Losing the game was hard, submitting to the Nix was harder, but having to face his father was the hardest. Having a Nix inside him, he suddenly felt an affinity for his Aunt. If this was unhappiness, then he didn't like it, not at all. He was going to see Maestro right away. Even though, the voice of the Nix was, thankfully, quiet, he wanted the Nix out and he wanted him out now!

Chapter Nineteen: The Return

Darkness, a reflection of how he felt inside, surrounded him as he made his way back to Horwood House. Even the streetlights could not dispel the foggy gloom that had settled on him. Like when he first found out he had a Nix inside, it was as though he was looking down a long tunnel; the only things that were in focus were the objects directly in front of him. Everything else was obscured, lost in a thick, dark fog. The Nix waited contentedly in the background, biding its time. From somewhere behind him, emerging from the sports complex, he heard a voice calling out. He began to run away from Rhea's voice.

He smelled it long before he got there: Smoke! Not waiting to reach the entrance, he scrambled up the stone wall surrounding the house and was greeted by a horrific sight.

Yellow-helmeted firemen, clad in thick, dark clothing edged with reflective tape, wrestled with water hoses as they attempted to put out the last of the fires. There was nothing left of the caravans except smoldering remains. One of several large, red fire trucks on the lawn stood amidst the ruins; a few blackened caravan skeletons remained, tottering on the rims of their tragic wheels. The obscenity was that within every caravan there had been a distinct world. Now they were gone, burned to a charred ruin: Holdfast's desert, Magenta's pirate ship and all the ones he had never seen. Then he noticed that the fire truck was parked where Maestro's caravan should have been.

As he climbed down from the wall he felt something above, watching. He looked up, and out of the dark haze, in the branches of a tree, he saw two green glowing eyes. Picking up a nut from the ground he hurled it at the black squirrel that deftly dodged it. The squirrel rained down on him a chorus of irate chatter. A hand closed painfully around his arm.

Grizzelda was glaring at him. Her hair was a wild tangled mess about her head, her eyes so wide that she looked as though drunk deep from the cup of insanity. However, it was the smile, the grin--of joy or pain or both, he couldn't tell-- that stopped Colin from pulling away. The Marcus doll was stuffed into a big purse at her side, its expression peeking out at him looking almost apologetic, and somewhat frightened.

"I'm so glad you've decided to drop by. Your timing couldn't be more appropriate," she said politely, but she was anything but kind. There was a ferocity about her that threatened to consume them both. Colin knew it was the Nix in her speaking.

"Let go of me," he said, gaining back his senses. His aunt, even though everything around her was chaos, seemed clear and terrible. He wanted to get as far away from her as possible. He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. His spirit guardian suddenly became aware of the threat.

"Oh, excuse me," said Grizzelda holding her hands up mockingly, then her face melted into a vicious snarl. There was spittle shining on her lips. "I forgot; I can't make you do anything!" She smiled insanely. "Now, if you don't mind, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the tower?" She held out her hand. It was shaking.

There was no way he was going to hold her hand, but the Nix leapt to life inside him and jerked a nerve string causing his hand to involuntarily grasp his aunt's. Her fingers closed tightly. Colin almost panicked at the thought of losing control of his own body. The Wind began to gather about him. _Not yet, not yet,_ he thought _, only when there is absolutely no hope._

"You burned the caravan's didn't you?" said Colin, hoping for more time, time to do what, he hadn't a clue. Maybe rescue was on its way, and maybe, it wasn't.

"You _are_ observant, aren't you?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Why? Surely, we're past 'why'! I'd much rather tell you 'how'! It was easy! After all, I _am_ the Mayor of Rivertown, and these, these vagrants had disobeyed my eviction notice, so, I simply had my fire department come to my home for a nice little bonfire."

"They burned the caravans?" asked Colin incredulously.

"Of course, you didn't think I would do it myself? Use the fire department for what they were meant to do – start fires."

"Well, you didn't get Maestro now did you," he shot back and felt a painful tug on his arm that pulled him nose to nose with his insane aunt. He didn't know whether this was true or not. Her face was so close to his that she looked as though she had only one eye.

"Now, listen here, you little rat! No, I didn't get Maestro. I sent him on a little trip, far, far away. So, I would advise you to keep your mouth shut until you are more educated, which should happen soon." She sprang away and gave his arm a tug nearly pulling it out of its socket. He had no intention of going without a fight, and he knew now, without a doubt, that Grizzelda was totally under the influence of the Nix.

He waited until he stepped into a puddle of water before he tried to escape, to slip into the very essence of the water, to become small, to slip away in the diminutive. Even if his body couldn't escape maybe his mind could. But even before he attempted, he knew it was futile. The Shadow Nix inside him stepped out from behind one of the water molecules, a smirk on its face. The Nix shook his head and wagged its finger scornfully at him. The figure looked distinctly like Jaeger. Jaeger was the Nix inside him? How was that possible?

"There's no escape for you. I suggest you turn around and go back," said the Nix.

"And if I don't," said Colin defiantly

Jaeger shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me what you do, or where you go, I'll be there with you, and when she wants you, I'll drag you to her."

Colin wanted to shout out, to yell at him, to threaten him with The Wind and annihilation, but thought better of it. The Wind must be his last resort. He smiled at Jaeger and nodded.

"How did you manage to take form for the match?"

"It's a bit of a trick. Unfortunately, it's temporary --ask your aunt, if you want to know--but none of that is going to matter soon, not after The Master is back."

"Master? Oh, you mean Old Man Horwood?" said Colin irreverently.

Jaeger's face blanched as his incensed fury simmered to the surface. "Be careful with your words, Wet Noodle." The Nix came up to him and gave him a push in the direction he had come, back up into his body. There would be no hiding place even form his mind. Colin felt himself rising back into his own consciousness taking charge of his body along with the shadow image of Jaeger.

"You see," said Grizzelda coldly, "escape is impossible. It's best to resign yourself to your fate."

They were moving to the front steps of the house, and the imitation Greek pillars there. The firemen, wielding large hoses and axes, were still putting out the last of the smoldering caravans, by chopping them to pieces. One man with the word _Fire Chief_ emblazoned on a shoulder badge approached them, flanked by Blandish and Devonish. Devonish was wearing a long wildflower-print dress under her knee length Melton cape, and an ugly straw hat that flopped down over her face. Blandish was in black, looking like an emaciated raven. They came to an abrupt stop in front of Grizzelda, almost saluting. Colin felt their treacherous, gloating eyes on him.

"The last of the caravans have been burned," reported the fire chief, his face streaked with sweat and grime.

"Good," snapped Grizzelda, "after you're finished haul everything to the dump and dispose of the trash."

The fire chief nodded and returned to his grim work.

"You two," she addressed Blandish and Devonish, who came to an absurd type of attention. "Bone won't be able to delay the Circus for long, so it'll be up to you two to hold them up. They're bound to try to rescue this miscreant. Just keep them busy while I make the transfer, understand?"

Their eyes gleamed zealously as they nodded and faded off into the night. They entered the foyer to the house. Was there an empty plaque on the wall next to the head of the deer? Was that for him? The stuffed heads of the animals stared down at him pityingly.

They were approaching the staircase leading to the second floor. She turned to him, her dark eyes flashing dangerously, a lunatic smile twisting her face unnaturally.

"You pretended didn't you? You pretended to be protecting us from school by not sending us there, just because you wanted to keep an eye on us," he accused his aunt, hoping this appeal would cause some part of the real her to rise to the surface.

She hesitated as though in conflict with herself. For a halting moment she looked unsure caught between the expression of soft sympathy and hard ruthlessness. The hard polarized on her face chasing the soft out, "Yes, of course."

She flipped her long pale hand in the air and a green-eyed shadow appeared at the top of the banister. The shadow scampered down the banister, eyes glimmering eerily as it took up its post on the ball at the bottom of the stairs. The black squirrel chattered at him angrily, then leaped onto Grizzelda's shoulder where it became a fur stole around her neck.

"My spirit guardian was able to report on your every movement. I knew what you were doing every moment of your little self-deluded life."

"And feeling sorry for your sister, for Sarah?"

She flourished her hand, "An act. Had I to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Grandfather Thunder was wrong."

"What do you mean, wrong?" Nervousness flickered behind her eyes when he used the name, as though the Grandfather Thunder might appear at the simple use of his name.

"He kept telling me that somewhere inside you there was something good."

The temporary smile contorted into a snarl as she jerked on his arm and led the way up the stairs wrenching him painfully along. The squirrel, disturbed from its nervous repose around her neck, sprung away into the shadows. Colin resisted by dragging his feet, but he felt Jaeger inside trying to force him forward, trying to take control of his legs. At least he could still resist. At least there was some hope there.

"You think your precious Grandfather Thunder is going to save you? He's dead, and the dead can't touch the living!" she snarled vengefully.

Colin noticed that in their struggle, the Marcus doll was slowly working its way up out of her deep purse so that now a portion of his kilt flapped free, chubby legs sticking up in the air.

Outside, people were yelling. Over the growing tumult he heard Holdfast's booming voice and the snarls of the invisible guard things. Inspired and fueled by hope, Colin struggled harder, but Grizzelda and Jaeger together, were just too strong, forcing him to succumb to their will.

"Horwood is dead!" he yelled out.

Grizzelda laughed hysterically, throwing her head back, her mop of wild hair flipping in one great tangle, her eyes wide with madness. There were flecks of white foam building up at the corners of her mouth.

"He's not dead! He's _Inbetween_. Come on, I'll show you! He's really anxious to meet you!" She cackled at this and Colin felt his resistance melt from exhaustion and was simultaneously pulled and shoved up the stairs.

She dragged him into her room to the large standing mirror. In its reflection he saw Grizzelda and his own terrified features. Within the mirror he saw their images melt, replaced by a picture of a vast, blank desert and a vast, blank sky. On the horizon, where the sky met the desert, he saw a dot. Growing rapidly in size, the dot gained arms and legs and a head. At first he had the hope that it was Grandfather Thunder, but this hope failed when he saw the gloating, arrogant expression of, none other than, Zuhayer Bombast Horwood.

In his mind Colin felt as though he was swimming in endless water, and now, was about to be dashed to pieces on the rocks surrounding the shore. He turned inwards in resignation and summoned The Wind.

The figure of Zuhayer Horwood was like the image of the statue in the courtyard, like the image in the painting in the parlor. He was dressed in a suit of dark enameled armor, red sash cutting diagonally across his chest. His eyes were like two black holes that threatened to pull everything into them.

The Wind was beginning to stir around them.

"So, you have managed to bring him. Good. You have finally managed to do something right," Horwood said derisively.

Aunt Grizzelda fell to her knees, pulling Colin down with her.

"I am sorry, Lord," she said in a quivering voice on the edge between crying and shrieking.

"And Maestro, and the others that plotted to trap me, where are they?"

"They are coming, my Lord, so, if you will, perhaps we should affect the exchange as soon as...," said Grizzelda, but was interrupted abruptly.

"You presume to advise me?" Horwood said incredulously. "Do not try my patience, girl! You're just like your mother."

Colin glared at the pompous image of his great grandfather, feeling The Wind as it began to build behind him. He had no idea what it would do once it emerged, but he hoped it would sweep them all away, even if it meant being killed himself.

"What are you doing?" demanded Horwood, the dark holes that were his eyes dilated, changing from disdain to an expression of shock. His hand flicked out, a white finger pointing at him. "Stop it! Stop him!" he commanded.

The Wind, seething with fury, faltered, suddenly unsure of its progress. Colin felt something being pressed down on The Wind, as though a lid had been placed over it. His head felt as if it was about to explode. He closed his eyes in pain.

A smash, followed by the sound of thousands of glass shards falling to the hardwood floor, brought Colin's eyes wide open again. In front of him, the glass had turned to sand, and Grizzelda was desperately running her fingers through the tiny grains. The mirror frame stood empty. The pain in his head was suddenly gone and The Wind was again sleepily sinking back down into his subconscious.

Standing beside the mirror--a raven-headed staff in his hand much like the one Grandfather Thunder carried--was Frederick, his father.

"This will stop!" he said forcefully, "and it will stop now!"

As Grizzelda flew at Frederick, her fists flailing wildly, the Marcus doll fell from her pocket. Colin deftly picked it up and stuffed it under his coat.

"You have no right!" she screamed at him, struggling to free her arms from his grasp. "You – have – no – right," she protested, seeming to expend the last of her wild energy. She sagged against him and began sobbing.

"Millicent, _you_ have no right to do _this_ to the boy," said Frederick gently, tenderly, as he sat her down on the edge of the bed. "Millicent, what's the matter with you? Why are you like this?" He glanced at Colin to see if he was alright.

She stared angrily up at him through her ragged black hair. His soft words hadn't reached her. " _You_ can't stop _him_ from coming back. _Nobody_ can stop _him_!" The hesitance in Frederick's face gave her encouragement. "You really didn't think we'd wait around for your little trap tomorrow! You couldn't possibly think that The Master would fall for such an obvious trick?" she said mockingly.

"I hoped," said Frederick haplessly, "he would, but obviously, he hasn't. Listen, I was meaning..."

"I know something that will hurt you, make you hurt so much you will want to cry, make you hurt like you hurt me." She was taking great painful pleasure in what she was about to do. "He's yours, you know, he's your son."

"What are you talking about?" asked Frederick in a surprised quandary, caught unawares.

"The boy is your son! Ask him, he knows. He knows who his mother is, too. You never knew that she was pregnant did you? That you shamed Sarah! That you turned the Old Man against her." Each word that flew out of her mouth struck Frederick as if it was a physical blow. Frederick staggered back from Grizzelda who seemed to grow stronger. "You abandoned her and she drowned herself!" she said, exalting in Frederick's visible pain.

"You are my son?" he asked, looking at Colin with wide eyes, and then with horrific disbelief he said, "She drowned herself? I thought it was an accident, a terrible, terrible accident?"

"She's lying!" shouted Colin, his outrage finally rushing out in an uncontrollable torrent. "My mother didn't drown herself! SHE could've saved her, but she didn't because she figured that with her out of the way she could have you! She's a liar!"

Frederick seemed not to hear anything he had said, or perhaps it didn't matter, because all he kept saying over and over again was, "You're my son?"

Grizzelda reached for something under the bed. The blur of a black club hit its target and Frederick fell limp to the ground.

Immediately she wailed out, "What have I done!" and crouched down to examine him compassionately, and then she pulled away sharply, shaking as she stood over him. " _You_ , you're so much like my sister, so sanctimonious, so dedicated to doing the right thing! It's not over. There are other mirrors! He _is_ coming back! He has made promises to ME – and I'm so very frightened!" She inadvertently felt her pocket and noticed that the Marcus doll was no longer there. "Where is he?" she cried desperately, "What did you do with him?"

***

Holdfast, Magenta and Grandma Li, along with Rhea and Spike, burst in through the entrance and were immediately set upon by the entire contents of the house. Chairs flew at them. The stuffed animal heads in the foyer set up such a ruckus that many became dislodged from their settings. They should have fallen, but instead they floated about the room and attacked the intruders. The paintings on the walls made violent, rude gestures at them. Everything had become animated. A Wapiti head, finding a target, pinned Spike against the wall with its horns. Holdfast, his clothes shredded by the guard things, was using a cast iron frying pan as a weapon. Animal heads bounced off the walls every time he made contact.

"Watch out!" yelled Magenta, wrestling an ottoman back down onto the floor, making sure it stayed there by sitting on it, "The armor!"

Holdfast whirled about catching the descending sword on the edge of his frying pan. Sparks ignited along the rim. Holdfast began to fence with the armor; a shower of sparks glittered eerily as they moved back and forth across the room. They fought on in a world of part light, part shadows.

Spike had been able to slip out beneath the Wapiti who remained, snorting furiously, horns stuck into the wall. He noticed that Rhea was still standing in the doorway of the house, frozen there, unable to move.

"What's the matter?" yelled Spike over the bedlam. More of the circus entertainers pushed into the house and were immediately set upon by flying utensils, such as knifes, forks and spoons: reinforcements from the kitchen. Outside, the invisible things still brayed and snarled furiously, while the yodeling shouts of Devonish rose shrilly into the air. The principal was breathing hard from ducking the balls of blue fire that Grandma Li was shooting from her hands. She returned red balls of fire from what looked like a knitting needle at the diminutive woman.

"The Phoenix tear, it's glowing! Should I let it out?" Rhea felt the unspeakable strength of her guardian within and wasn't sure what to do.

Spike shook his head. "Not yet. Let's find Colin first!"

They dodged the flying heads, but one of the many wing-backed chairs flew at them from the parlor. Magenta, using a flying dropkick, made contact with the chair, and it burst apart into fragments that fell to the floor. She picked up one of the chair legs, whirled about and began beating the head of the suit of armor as it was about to impale Holdfast on its sword.

Spike, grabbing Rhea's hand, pulled her up the stairs.

A feeling of wrongness went before them, up the stairs and into Grizzelda's room. There they found the limp form of Frederick, the pile of sand and the empty mirror, but no Colin, no Grizzelda. The violence in the room was fresh and palpable, vibrating against their skin.

"Where would they go?" said Rhea, her throat going dry.

***

Colin had been dragged through the fireplace, and was now being pulled down into the bowels of the house. It was musty and dank and smelled of something foul. The walls around them seemed to be contracting and expanding as if they were a living thing, and when he reached out to touch one of the walls, he quickly withdrew his hand at the feel of something wet and viscous. He had given up protesting, the closeness of the tunnel permeating his senses, forcing a type of paralyses on him. The control of the Nix over his aunt was complete.

When the surface they were walking on dried out, he remembered where they were. The darkness denied recognition, but the sounds revealed it. They were passing the crypt. He heard the small snakes slithering in anticipation of their passing. Instinctively Colin wanted to reach up and cover his nose, but he didn't want to lose his grip on the Marcus doll.

As they passed by the crypt, he expected the sound of the slithering snakes in the lock to fade, but it didn't. Not only did they continue to slither behind them, but also the sound got louder, filling the entire passage with dread. Colin's heart was racing. He found it odd that his aunt seemed to be oblivious to the threat; even Jaeger, who was in partial control of his body, seemed totally unaware.

Grizzelda suddenly screeched. One of the snakes, now impossibly large, wrapped its body around her legs and tripped her.

Colin found himself freed. In his subconscious, he knocked the surprised Jaeger out of the way and took back control of most of his body. He was about to run in the opposite direction, but was felled by a constricting snake. He hit the floor of the stone passage with force, and felt the copper taste of a bloody lip. Then the snake was gone as it slithered over top of him. He scrambled to his feet and dashed down the passage away from the snake, his nose itching terribly remembering his first encounter with the little snakes at Zuhayer's Crypt. Up ahead, Grizzelda screamed several times; these blood-curdling sounds were borne of both concern and of rage. His aunt was still divided in purpose, and Colin took courage from this. Colin patted his pocket to make sure the Marcus doll was there, but it was gone.

He skidded to a stop in front of three gaping passageways. He hesitated, unsure. Taking a step into the passage on the right, he thought better of it and stopped. Out of the middle passage came the drone and skirl of bagpipes. Without thought he took that one and was immediately rewarded with a flight of ascending stairs. Up he ran, following the music, up and away from the wailing and weeping of his confused aunt and the susurrations of the snakes that sounded around him like laughter. He raced toward the broken tower, all the while, knowing he wasn't running from trouble, but running into the very heart of it. In his head Jaeger gave a cackling laugh.

"Shut up!" yelled Colin, and surprisingly, Jaeger took heed.

All the locks guarding the broken tower were wide open. Colin knew exactly what to do, and so did the swirling Wind that was fully sentient and waiting inside him, waiting to be released. Colin realized that it was this, and not his voice that had sent Jaeger cowering to the far corner of his mind.

Not halting at the base of the spiraling stairs, nor caring whether he trod directly up the middle of the red carpet, Colin took them two at a time. He knew instinctively that the music wouldn't lead him wrong, that it would lead him directly to where he needed to go. Even though his legs ached with the effort, he didn't falter. He surged by many of the runic symbols that marked the entrances to the rooms that populated the tower, not stopping until he reached the one from where the music was issuing. Behind him, the alternating sounds of sobbing and hysterical wailing pursued him. His aunt had somehow escaped the snakes and was on his trail. Colin burst into the room from where the music was coming, his destination, and his fate.

It was the same type of room as all the others, with the large upright oval mirror in the center, except here the circular room had thirteen arched windows giving many views into different places, different lands. But all this was only a backdrop to what stood next to the mirror: the full-sized Marcus Tiberius Dundas, his bald head shining with the sheen of effort, his bagpipes cradled in the crook of his arm, the pipes leaning up against his large girth.

"Marcus?" asked Colin unsure. The figure didn't move. The doll had only gotten bigger. How could the frozen form have played the pipes, or how had it gotten here on its own?

"Yes, he's Marcus," said a familiar voice. Stepping out from behind the unmoving man was Hugh Dundas. "I was wondering when you were going to make it, lad. Welcome!"

There was something about the man--his too warm smile, the plastic sheen on his craggy face, his feral, sharp nose--that made Colin cautious.

"I knew what Grizzelda was going to try to do, so I made it here in advance-–to see if I could provide any aid. I know what you're up against, but it is your destiny," he said with false compassion.

How it happened he didn't know, but the floor of the room began to move, one block at a time, shifting like a complex puzzle, and when it was finished moving, he had been moved from the door and positioned in front of the mirror. The scuttling sound and gasping breath of his aunt reached the door. He willed himself to move, but still remained frozen, in place.

"Good," she said, desperately trying to groom her hair with the palm of her hand. She let out a large breath of air and became composed. The indecisive madness had left her face, which was now cold, reptilian. The Nix inside her had won, "Good, Tellings, you have the boy."

Colin stared at the two standing together. "You're not Hugh?" asked Colin bewildered.

"I look like him, indeed." He took his free hand and passed it in front of his face, replacing Hugh's features for those of the more sinister, yet just as old, Tellings. Colin remembered the picture at the funeral home, of Zuhayer clasping hands with Bevise, Bunk and Tellings. "But no, I am Tellings."

"What about Hugh, what about Marcus?" asked Colin trying to stall them.

"Hugh, is somewhere," and here he motioned to one of the thirteen windows, "around here." He gave a crazy laugh revealing even white teeth. "And Marcus, the poor, smitten Marcus," he nodded at the frozen form beside the mirror, "A necessary sacrifice. Don't you agree Millicent?"

Colin noticed a nervous twitch at the corner of Grizzelda's mouth. The Nix inside her didn't have total control. Tellings was right; things aren't always the way they seem. He focused on Grizzelda. "I thought you liked Marcus. I thought you cared for him," prompted Colin, hoping care and compassion would give his aunt strength.

She refused to answer, but moved towards him in a jerky, unnatural movement.

"Marcus does have good taste in women. Horwood blood is powerful blood. Unfortunately, he was getting too close to Millicent, and there was the possibility that he would've found out what we were planning to do to you. Besides love would've made it more difficult getting complete control over her."

Another twitch, and Grizzelda jerked to a stop.

Colin turned to Grizzelda a bit more desperate. He still couldn't move. "You liked him, you liked Marcus because he accepted you without any conditions, right? He loved you because of who you really are inside. He was able to see that! You've got to fight, Grizzelda, you've got to fight, for him!" he implored.

A confused looked swept her face, roiling just beneath the surface.

"Oh, very good. Very good. I told you how love could interfere and here you've gone and ignited a spark. How brilliant. It's no wonder Zuhayer wants you. Well, even so, you're still doomed."

Colin shifted from his aunt to Tellings. "So, what was the deal? Zuhayer must have made some twisted deal with you, for you to remain alive this long. So, what did you sell? What did it cost you?"

Anger flashed over Tellings face, but he controlled it and smiled darkly. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt while we wait. I supported Zuhayer and he showed me how to extend life. Of course I had to sleep, and yes I still aged, but in the end it will all be worth it. Life, immortal, nice ring isn't it, is at hand."

"So, how is this going to happen? Why do you need me if Zuhayer is so powerful."

"Isn't it obvious?" said Telling, taking a menacing step closer, "We're going to use you to get Zuhayer back! With him he will bring all the lost souls, and we will rule here. Eventually we will extend our rule beyond _Inbetween_. But the Master needs a body for that, specifically--yours."

"Why me? Why not someone else?"

"Yours is the closest, genetically. The closer the match, the less the chance of rejection," he explained.

Tellings was close enough to make a lunge for him. Grizzelda still remained frozen, in a silent battle between love and hatred. But Colin wasn't about to wait to be grabbed. He reached back feeling the carved wooden frame of the mirror with his hand, as he did so, he was able to move his feet again.

Jaeger, now aware of what Colin was about to do, came surging madly up into Colin's consciousness, trying to regain control of his host's body, but it was too late. With a great deal of satisfaction Colin saw the eyes of Tellings dilate in unexpected dread. Their intent was to hold him until Zuhayer Horwood could step out of the mirror and into Colin's body. They had not expected Colin to step into the mirror. In one swift movement, Colin was gone absorbed by the mirror.

He was _Inbetween_ , standing on the grass-carpeted ledge overlooking the expansive ocean below.

Pivoting, he was grateful to find the cross-legged form of Grandfather Thunder sitting meditatively, looking composed, at peace. He opened his eyes and smiled.

"I've been expecting you." He used his serpent-head staff to pull himself up to his feet and motioned Colin closer. He bent forward in confidence. "I have someone I think you would be interested in meeting."

Out from behind a large boulder glided Silverberry, his mother. She looked more radiant, more wonderful than anything Colin had ever seen, and indeed she seemed the most beautiful thing in the world. Her arms extended out to him, the diaphanous sheer of her dress fluttering from them. She was no longer wet and seemingly cold, but dry and warm. His reserve crumbled and he ran into the comforting arms of his dead mother. He looked up at her and she brushed the hair out of his water-laden eyes.

"You look so much like your father, my beautiful, beautiful, son," she said, but her voice was thin as though carried from a great distance by a distant wind that was now, somehow failing. She was becoming somewhat translucent and Colin tried to grip her tighter, but it was no use, she was fading.

"It was difficult to get permission for her to see you again," explained Grandfather Thunder. "Her time will be fleeting, but..."

"...well spent," finished Sergeant Peary, suddenly 'POPPING' out of the air in front of them. His fatigues were ripped and torn, tainted with fresh blood, as though he had been in a battle. He staggered slightly then summoned the strength to stabilize himself, and took the perpetual smoldering stub of a cigar from between his lips and flicked it off the edge of the cliff. "Won't be needing this anymore." He gave Silverberry a warm grin, nodding to her and saying, "Every time I see you, I'm reminded of my sister, Emily. She was a good girl. And to Grandfather Thunder, "G.T., I suppose this is it? Three dead and one very much alive young man against the Old Man and his minions."

"It is enough," said Grandfather Thunder resolutely. He turned his focus to Colin with a concerned-but-hard look. "I hope you are ready for this. Maestro has prepared you?"

Colin realized, for the first time, that Jaeger was no longer present in his mind, or anywhere in his thoughts. By stepping into the looking glass, it had purged him of the Nix.

"What do you mean?" asked Colin suddenly remembering why he had stepped into the mirror, and in so remembering, ignited The Wind within.

A perplexed frown unfurled on Grandfather Thunder, his face like the dark cloud that was forming far out over the ocean. "I feared something like this might happen," said Grandfather Thunder.

He came closer to Colin. The limpid clarity of his eyes slid into him and into his mind, searching. Colin tightened the hold on his mother's ghostly hand. Even though her hand was somewhere between spirit and corporeal, it was still substantial enough to feel its softness, to feel comforted by it.

"Be strong, Colin," said his mother, her voice whispering musically into his soul.

"You _are_ strong," said Grandfather Thunder nodding in agreement. "What Maestro was going to instruct you about, before the attack on his circus, was that none of us can face Zuhayer Horwood. It has to be you, because your great strength is requisite."

Colin was surprised that his first reaction wasn't to look behind him for the person G.T. was addressing this to. Rather, he nodded to him in somber, but full agreement. He had always known this about himself, and it seemed, at this moment, that everything had led to this showdown with the force that threatened the harmony which Grandfather Thunder had always lived by and taught, the same harmony that Maestro and his circus performers, including Ofelia, adhered to, and Grandma Li had passed down so successfully to her children and grandchildren.

Grandfather Thunder continued: "You see, we--even though we resent being called this–-are dead, or almost. And the dead cannot affect the living without using special rules of engagement."

"But Horwood is dead too!"

"No, he's not...just banished. His fear of death forced him to tie a portion of his spirit to the _Inbetween_ , in the hope he could live again, specifically, through you. He needs your body to affect this transfer."

Colin knew this intrinsically, but hearing it from G.T. caused a shock of adrenalin to course through him.

"He wants to change places, and if he succeeds you'll be trapped _Inbetween_ forever."

The dark clouds that had begun as a dot on the horizon were now flooding across the sea covering the entire expanse of the sky. "He's coming for you, and you are the only one who can stop him. We had planned to stop him tomorrow night when he tried to take your body at the coronation, but your aunt, or the Nix inside your aunt, chose to act sooner. Her plan, which you foiled, was to hold you in front of one of the mirrors while Zuhayer slipped into you. Well," said Grandfather Thunder bracing himself and planting his staff firmly into the ground, "are you ready for the fight of your life?"

Colin felt his mother's tender kiss, like the flicker of a cool wind, on his cheek.

He saw Sergeant Peary, his arms now full of weapons, a nasty, almost gleeful expression, on his face. He gave him a wink.

His mother who had now joined the other two standing on the cusp of the cliff, her sheer dress fluttering about her, moved by the breeze that was turning to storm, motioned for him to come forward.

Colin stared down the cliff at the white pounding surf. The white foam had changed to black; on the crest of the waves swarmed a host of Nixes. They began to crawl up the face of the cliff.

Colin felt his spirit guardian building inside him, breezes combining in intensity, becoming a maelstrom. He didn't know how long he could contain it before it emerged.

"How am I to handle The Wind when it comes out?" asked Colin apprehensively.

"That is a question I cannot answer. When the time comes, you will know. Now, if you don't mind, I think a lesson is needed for these tormented souls, although I do fear learning is far past their ability." A gust of wind pummeled violently into Grandfather Thunder with no effect and the dragon head on his staff opened its mouth. From it issued blue flames that surged down the cliff, fanning out and blasting a hole in the black mass of Nixes.

Sergeant Peary sent barrage after barrage of ghostly projectiles down into the Nixes, but every time a hole formed it was filled by the pushing mass behind. It was as though nothing could stop the Nixes from reaching their objective.

Silverberry, sitting reflectively on a flat rock overlooking the cliff, observed the exhausting effort of the majestic Jim Thunder and the manic fighting machine, Charlotte's son, Sergeant Peary Horwood. There was something she could do yet she waited. Timing would indeed be everything.

Something caught Colin's eye, drawing his attention from the battle, to a dark spot far out on the ocean. Slowly at first and then growing in rapidity, the black spot began to pulsate, and from each pulse a sickly, eerie, green light began to emanate. It grew in strength and size and gave Colin the impression that it was feeding, consuming, the dark cloud around it. Then it stopped, rose from the surface of the ocean, and began to glide their way. As it progressed, Colin began to make out the details of the object, and wished he couldn't. Zuhayer Horwood was sitting on a throne, which was supported by an immense, floating chunk of blackened ice, and as it grew in size, so to did his victorious grin.

The Nixes were almost on them when Silverberry began to sing. Colin had heard the song before. It had come to him in dark nights when dreams turned horrible and his head felt as big and as heavy as the world. Then the sweet melody would pierce the air--a weightless, graceful light-filled refrain--and lift him above it all. Then as now, he felt his worries dissipate as the light of the song cut through the dark of the Nixes and surrounded them, rising up into the air to take on a tangible, sparkling mist.

Grandfather Thunder and Sergeant Peary had ceased their attempts to stop the Nixes and watched with awe as the mist floated down the cliff. It coated the rocks as it went, sliding closer and closer to the inky souls that were the Nixes. They were so close now that Colin could make out the features of the first line of fighters. As the Nixes came to the coated rocks, and touched them, they immediately withdrew their hands as though burned. They collectively hissed in fury, gnashing their teeth, and glared hatefully in Colin's direction. All the way across the cliff the effect was similar. The advance of the Nixes had been halted. But it was not so with Zuhayer Horwood.

The floating ice reached the shore and shot up the cliff, unaffected by the sparkling mist that Silverberry had rained down on the rocks. It hovered above their heads and began to descend behind them.

The black armored figure--exactly like the statue at Horwood House--rose up from his throne. He surveyed them, an expression of contemptuous arrogance on his pallid face.

"Jim, it's been a long time," said Zuhayer to Grandfather Thunder as he stepped off his platform and onto the ground. His eyes found Colin and fastened on him. "How does it feel to be dead?"

"It does have its restrictions," he said stepping in front of Colin.

"You think you can stop me from taking the boy?" said Zuhayer imperiously. "You know the rules as well as I."

"Your rules, not mine." The words grated from between Sergeant Peary's clenched teeth. They were rough words carved throughout the years by the torment he had suffered at the hands of his father.

Zuhayer refused to look at Peary, at his son. Instead he looked over his shoulder where there was nothing. "I think I heard something insignificant, some precocious little wind trying to huff and puff its way back into existence. Enough of this!" he snarled turning back to the small group, his face contorting savagely, eyes burning red, and he lunged for Colin.

Grandfather Thunder, his staff flared to life, tried to protect Colin, but as Zuhayer touched him, his form became silvery, more transparent and dissipated entirely. Even though Grandfather Thunder had disappeared, his staff did not, but fell forward, its snakehead hissing onto the ground. Zuhayer brushed the staff away with his toe, avoiding the head with abhorrence.

"One down, three to go," he said smugly advancing on Colin who had backed up to the cliff's edge. He was caught between the Nixes and Zuhayer, until Sergeant Peary took Grandfather Thunder's place.

Peary was now between his father and Colin. He was flickering oddly as if he was trying to become substantial, as if he was trying to come back from the dead.

Zuhayer noticed his son for the first time, and arched an eyebrow. "Impressive, boy, perhaps I misjudged you," then he sighed as though a great opportunity had been missed, "but, of course, it's too late, much too late." He cast a glance over to the left. Materializing out of the air were the two Union Agents with the stovepipe hats. The grim looks on their faces said there would be no discussion. They summarily rushed Sergeant Peary, and tackled him. They fell off the cliff where the three of them disappeared into nothingness.

"Well, that was easy, two down, two to go. Even though you foiled my little plan, this is developing into quite an entertaining show. Now, if you don't mind, would you come here so we can get on with it?"

Colin felt his legs jerk forward in response to Zuhayer's crooked index finger. The Wind struggled to get out, but something inside Colin held it back, and he couldn't understand why.

His Mother spoke. Her voice was calm, peaceful, resigned, and it stopped Zuhayer as though he had hit a wall. Many emotions passed across Zuhayer's face--pain, ecstasy, hatred, love--all rolling over and over again. He staggered and placed a gloved hand to his face, feebly attempting to rub away the memories.

"Stop it," he yelled, "stop talking! You don't have any right to sound like _her._ You have no right!"

"I have all the right in the world," she continued softly, "after all she is my Grandma. Her blood flows in my body, her spirit now is my spirit, and she wants to know, Zuhayer, why you are doing these terrible things."

Colin watched as Zuhayer Horwood hardened his heart; the momentary pliability lost to descending sheet of steel that began to cover his face. His lips, two thin lines, pressed the emotion out of his face, and his chin jutted forward set in his resolve to take the boy. He looked at Silverberry knowingly, suspiciously, and gave a cold laugh. "Oh, you are good. You almost had me."

Unperturbed, Silverberry shrugged. She gave Colin a knowing glance, and for a moment her eyes flickered to Grandfather Thunder's fallen staff before returning to Zuhayer. "Before I'm dismissed, would you please tell me why you placed a curse on all the Horwood women?"

Zuhayer hesitated again, as though some almost insurmountable barrier had just been placed in front of him. "But I didn't curse _all_ Horwood women, just the ones who betrayed my will. You don't see it do you? All this is for her, to bring her back, make things as they should be, to bring back who I was," he said jabbing himself emphatically in his chest. "Why am I telling you this? It's time for you to go!" He flicked his hand and although she fought it, Silverberry began to disappear.

"Colin, I love you," said Silverberry fighting to remain.

"Three down, one to go."

Colin's mind was racing: the answer, the answer, the answer? _What_ is the answer?

It was no use, he couldn't think of anything. He was too panicked; his concentration wasn't there. His eyes rolled from the ground up to the heavens and back down again. His mind was totally blank! Then, in a flash, the answer finally burst into Colin's consciousness. He threw himself at the staff, grasped it in his hands and rolled up to his knees, pointing the head, now like a globe of glass, at Zuhayer.

"Leave her alone!" he shouted. "He saw the Wind swirling within the glass orb.

Zuhayer Bombast Horwood turned to him, eyebrow arched, an expression of mild interest on his face, but that altered to one of stunned surprise as the glass ball on the head of Grandfather Thunder's staff exploded. Out of it surged a vast, tumultuous, hurricane-force wind. Using both his hands he swung the staff against Zuhayer Horwood's armor, and he could feel his guardian latching onto Zuhayer in tenacious vengeance. A blue–white nimbus of light enveloped Zuhayer Horwood, and The Wind began to take his great grandfather literally apart, one piece at a time. The last things he remembered were the surprise on Zuhayer Horwood's face... and the man's screams.

***

When Colin woke up, it all seemed like a dream, a terrible dream, except for the fact that still clutched in his hand was Grandfather Thunder's staff. His head throbbed and flashed with pain. As he slowly roused himself from his sleep, he realized that he was lying on a soft bed of ferns. In the distance he heard the sound of a peaceful waterfall.

"Where am I?" he said, more to himself than anyone, as he sat up.

He felt a hand on his chest restraining him, gently pushing him back down. Was everything that had just happened, indeed, just a dream? He saw a familiar face. It was Rhea, and behind her, Spike and Melissa. There was a translucent, angelic shine about Melissa's face. There were other faces too, concerned faces. Holdfast, his bristly beard and gigantic head were there, along with Magenta's face, and dear Ofelia, but of all the faces that mattered the most was the face of his worried father, Frederick. He had a wide bandage wrapped around his head. A shadow moved behind the faces and for a moment Colin tensed, but then he relaxed when he recognized it was Maestro. Much to the disapproval of Rhea, he sat up to get a better view of things. He was in Maestro's caravan. Lifting a hand, Colin realized that it had the same luminescent sparkle that was still about Melissa and Ofelia.

"After we got you back," said Frederick "the angels were able to fix you up."

"Feels great, eh?" shot in Spike, his eyes vibrating. "You should've seen Rhea's Phoenix taking on Tellings! He had this black spider thing that shot out green poison, but Rhea's phoenix was too fast, and too hot. It burnt the spider to a crisp. Unfortunately, Tellings jumped out one of the windows and disappeared. Your dad said he was pretending to be Hugh."

Rhea smiled. "We thought we had lost you."

It all still felt like a dream to him, even this reunion. He rose off the bed of ferns and made his way to the door, in spite of the fact that his head was spinning. Swinging the door open, he glared out onto the front yard of Horwood House and found what he was looking for. The statue of Zuhayer Horwood was now nothing more than a pile of black rubble. In front of the rubble knelt his aunt, her form bowed and defeated, her body wracked with sobs. Marcus Tiberius Dundas attempted to comfort her by stroking and patting her back.

"He's gone for good then?" said Colin returning to the interior of the caravan. "He's finally dead?"

Maestro nodded, but he shuffled his feet. "He is gone, yes."

"Along with Grandfather Thunder, Uncle Peary, and my Mom?"

"Yes."

"Will I ever see them again?" he asked. "My Mom?" He couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes.

He felt his father by his side, a thick arm around his shoulders, buoying him up, supporting him. His warm voice comforted him. "I don't know much, but death is a funny thing," said Frederick, "but it definitely isn't the end."

###

**About the author:** M.E. Eadie lives on an island in the Ottawa River with his wife and six children. Much of the inspiration for the Colin series is based in a nearby town. A visual artist first, he has turned his focus to the printed word; because of all the arts he finds it the most challenging. (There is a correct here) He finds music the most challenging.

Discover other titles by M.E. Eadie at Smashwords.com

Book 2: Colin and The Little Black Box

Book 3 Colin and The Revenant

A Thousand Kisses Deep

Smashwords: <http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/adambooks>

Find out what I'm currently working on @:

My blog: <http://adambookhouse.blogspot.com/>
