CHAPTER TWO

  The Secret

  IV

  A while later, after tucking Wilburn snugly into bed with his stuffed toucan, Toukie, nestled in his arms as always, Ez climbed down from the loft and went outside to join Gramma, who she found leaning on the garden fence, smoking a stubby wooden pipe. Ez said nothing at first. She pulled a carrot from her pocket and offered it to the patch of extra-dense darkness which she took to be Thoralf. A shiver ran through her as the carrot was tugged gently from her hand and crunching noises issued from the darkness. She was glad the horse’s night vision was better than her own, or else that crunching might have been one of her fingers. Ez could barely see Gramma’s face in the soft orange glow cast by the ember of her pipe.

  The air was cold, but not unpleasantly so. Now that the wind had settled down, the chilly stillness was invigorating. “So, what happens next?” Ez asked, propping an elbow on a fencepost.

  Gramma took a deep drag on her pipe before replying, “Wilburn needs an education. And the only place for him to get one is Frogswallow’s College of Metaphysical Arts. It’s where I went to school, and Loy, and Jack. The fall semester starts next month, so we’ve got about a fortnight before we need to leave— What are you snickering at?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Sorry,” Ez said. “It’s just... Frogswallow’s? Who came up with that?”

  Gramma harrumphed. “The school’s named after its founder,” she said irritably, “Mortemir Frogswallow. He was a great wizard.”

  “Okay,” Ez said, trying to stifle her amusement; she was feeling a bit slap-happy after the circus of a day she’d had. So many questions were bouncing through her mind that it was difficult to choose which to prioritize. She wanted to learn more about Jack’s life as a magician, about his death as an outlaw, but right now, what mattered most was her son’s future, not his father’s past. Before she could marshal her thoughts, however, Gramma said, “I’m bushed,” and began tapping out her pipe.

  Feeling a little disappointed, Ez fed Thoralf the last carrot in her pocket and turned to follow Gramma to the cottage. Then she stopped, “I’ve just remembered something.”

  “Mm?” Gramma’s voice said out of the darkness.

  “When those vexpids landed on our roof, Wilburn said, She’s here, as if he was expecting someone, but I never got to find out what he meant. Right after he said it, they attacked, and I forgot until just now.”

  “I doubt it’s important,” Gramma said. “He was recovering from kineturgic exhaustion. He was probably just confused.” The pair stood silent for some time.

  Then Gramma said, “Unless...”

  But Ez suddenly shushed her. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  They listened.

  From the darkness came a sound, as yet still faint and far away, hardly perceptible at first, but growing louder with each passing second, a sound to make Ez’s blood run cold: it was the low, thrumming buzz of wings.