off the lid, and blew on the steaming liquid. She took a sip and scrunched her face at the bitterness.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I kept thinking that I’d wake up and find myself in twelfth-century China or at the Alamo with Santa Anna beating at the gates or in some London street during the Black Plague . . .”
Keal sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re here, home, in your own time,” he assured her. “All you need to think about right now is how great it’s going to be to get to know your son again, and your grandkids. They’re sweet people.”
“Ah,” she said, sounding as though she was already with them, basking in their attention.
“It’s okay,” he said. “All better now.”
“No,” she said, turning to look at him. A tear broke away from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. “It’s not okay, not as long as they’re in that house. Can’t you feel it? It’s not finished with us, not any of us.”
CHAPTER
twenty - six
FRIDAY, 7:43 A.M.
When they stepped into the short corridor, it was empty.
“Let’s go,” Xander said, heading for locker 119. It was about twenty paces away from the bathroom, against the opposite wall.
David followed. Conflicting emotions left him not knowing how to feel. He was disappointed with himself for going along with Xander’s plan to skip school. At the same time, he was doing mental backflips over getting to seeing Young Jesse again. He couldn’t think of a better person to help them figure out the house and rescue Mom—even if the younger version of Jesse had not yet spent fifty years navigating through time. He was still one of the builders of the house.
Besides, he really liked the kid. In the short time they were together the day before, David felt the bond between them grow stronger, like a muscle being flexed. David and Old Jesse had hit it off immediately in a way that could only be explained as part of the mystery of kinship—family ties, blood, and all that. Where Old Jesse could have been his grandpa, Young Jesse felt like a brother.
A man stepped out of the cafeteria doors, where the main hallway intersected with this shorter one. He walked straight into the longer corridor without turning his head.
Xander and David continued to the locker. Xander’s padlock was on it from when Taksidian had tried to come through. Xander checked the locker next to it: also empty, so he shifted the lock to that one. He lifted the latch and opened the door.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you, so get out of the closet fast.”
“What am I going to do, count the towels?” David’s eyes scanned the empty locker. He remembered how frightened he’d been finding out what it did the first time. He had shut himself in the house’s second-floor linen closet, planning on scaring Xander. But when he had emerged, instead of being home, he was in the school.
He stepped up into the cramped space. The metal floor buckled under his feet. He turned to tell his brother he was ready, but Xander was already slamming the door.
It was instantly dark, except for light slicing through gill-like vents in the door. These slits faded, as though someone had turned a dimmer on the school’s overhead fluorescents and the sunlight streaming through the windows. David’s shoulder was touching one of the locker walls; then the wall was gone. He bent his knees and held out his hands for balance as the floor became firmer and straighter. The scent in his nostrils changed from pencil shavings and rust to the sweet outdoorsiness of freshly washed sheets and towels.
The floor, then his sneakers started to glow as light poured in from under the door. When the air around him had stopped . . . vibrating was the best word he could think of. When it stopped vibrating, he found the handle and turned it. He stepped into the hallway outside his and Xander’s bedroom.
He shut the door and waited. Sunlight from
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I kept thinking that I’d wake up and find myself in twelfth-century China or at the Alamo with Santa Anna beating at the gates or in some London street during the Black Plague . . .”
Keal sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re here, home, in your own time,” he assured her. “All you need to think about right now is how great it’s going to be to get to know your son again, and your grandkids. They’re sweet people.”
“Ah,” she said, sounding as though she was already with them, basking in their attention.
“It’s okay,” he said. “All better now.”
“No,” she said, turning to look at him. A tear broke away from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. “It’s not okay, not as long as they’re in that house. Can’t you feel it? It’s not finished with us, not any of us.”
CHAPTER
twenty - six
FRIDAY, 7:43 A.M.
When they stepped into the short corridor, it was empty.
“Let’s go,” Xander said, heading for locker 119. It was about twenty paces away from the bathroom, against the opposite wall.
David followed. Conflicting emotions left him not knowing how to feel. He was disappointed with himself for going along with Xander’s plan to skip school. At the same time, he was doing mental backflips over getting to seeing Young Jesse again. He couldn’t think of a better person to help them figure out the house and rescue Mom—even if the younger version of Jesse had not yet spent fifty years navigating through time. He was still one of the builders of the house.
Besides, he really liked the kid. In the short time they were together the day before, David felt the bond between them grow stronger, like a muscle being flexed. David and Old Jesse had hit it off immediately in a way that could only be explained as part of the mystery of kinship—family ties, blood, and all that. Where Old Jesse could have been his grandpa, Young Jesse felt like a brother.
A man stepped out of the cafeteria doors, where the main hallway intersected with this shorter one. He walked straight into the longer corridor without turning his head.
Xander and David continued to the locker. Xander’s padlock was on it from when Taksidian had tried to come through. Xander checked the locker next to it: also empty, so he shifted the lock to that one. He lifted the latch and opened the door.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you, so get out of the closet fast.”
“What am I going to do, count the towels?” David’s eyes scanned the empty locker. He remembered how frightened he’d been finding out what it did the first time. He had shut himself in the house’s second-floor linen closet, planning on scaring Xander. But when he had emerged, instead of being home, he was in the school.
He stepped up into the cramped space. The metal floor buckled under his feet. He turned to tell his brother he was ready, but Xander was already slamming the door.
It was instantly dark, except for light slicing through gill-like vents in the door. These slits faded, as though someone had turned a dimmer on the school’s overhead fluorescents and the sunlight streaming through the windows. David’s shoulder was touching one of the locker walls; then the wall was gone. He bent his knees and held out his hands for balance as the floor became firmer and straighter. The scent in his nostrils changed from pencil shavings and rust to the sweet outdoorsiness of freshly washed sheets and towels.
The floor, then his sneakers started to glow as light poured in from under the door. When the air around him had stopped . . . vibrating was the best word he could think of. When it stopped vibrating, he found the handle and turned it. He stepped into the hallway outside his and Xander’s bedroom.
He shut the door and waited. Sunlight from
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