“I’ve seen the furniture you’re trying to repurpose for your hotel. None of it matches.”
“The beauty of themed rooms,” I reply. “I’ll never get bored, because every room will be different.”
“Are you coming now?”
“Patience. I think I saw a tree skirt in the closet...” I rummage in Victor’s closet, which looks like a snow globe from all thewhite fluff. I find the tree skirt, along with a large silver box that makes me squeal with delight.
“Oh, no. What is it now?”
“Nothing! I’ll be there in a minute. Ten minutes, tops.”
He sighs.
“It’s an emergency.”
His voice goes low, suspicious. “You found ornaments.”
“I did! They’re wonderful. Wesley, come look at these ornaments. Ohh, here’s a little drummer boy. Ohh, here’s Rudolph. Ohh, it’s the whole set fromSanta Claus Is Comin’ to Town! Ahhhh!”
“Please. My ears.”
I grab a chair from where I’ve got it positioned by the wall, next to Wesley’s tub of paints and my three-quarters-finished mural. My attention’s temporarily waylaid by a new development in the waterfall-lagoon world, thrashing on stormy waves. “You painted a pirate ship.” Thick, sinewy tentacles, pearlescent as abalone shells, lunge out of the water to grip theFelled Star’s stern, ready to devour.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Is that the kraken? That isawesome.”
“Are you about done down there? You’re going to want to see this, I’m telling you.”
“Just a sec.” I climb onto the chair and stretch, hanging a particularly handsome ornament as high up as I can manage. It’s a glass sphere the size of a softball, splotched with gold shimmer. A plaid bow rests inside, the same ribbon that Violet used to bind her stacks of letters—
“Wait a minute.”
“I’ve been waiting for seventeen of them.”
“There’s a paper in this ornament.” I jump down, wriggle the top off, and shake it until a rolled-up piece of paper slides out. “Like a message in a bottle.” The ribbon’s stiff, permanently crimped after I loosen the tie, smooth the paper against my knee. “I think it’s a map.”
“Of what?”
“Not sure.”
I’ve got to show him this. Hard to believe I was tired earlier—I’mwirednow, thundering up the staircase two steps at a time, crashing into a brick wall that’s been unexpectedly erected on the second floor.
The bricks are softer than they look, absorbing my muffled “Oof.” And an “Mmpphhhhh,” which might or might not be caused by how good it smells.
“Sorry.” The brick wall grows arms, gingerly tipping me back with the tips of its fingers. Has Wesley always been this tall? From down here, the top of his head is in the stars. I’d have to break my vertebrae to see his face.
He takes a blundering step away, raking a hand through his hair. “Can I... see it?”
Instead of handing the map over, I scoot next to him so that we pore over it side by side. “I’m pretty sure these are trees.” I point at a jumble of broccoli florets drawn in blue pen.
Wesley analyzes the map closely, raising it higher. Our height difference means that the half of the paper I’m still clutching is bending significantly downward. “This is the manor here,” he murmurs, pointing at a blue square. I’m distracted by his large hands with short, square nails as he skims a finger to a second, much smaller blue square next to the manor. I’ve seen these handshalve an apple without a knife, and they’re the same ones that paint miniature pirate ships. “This is labeled ‘shed,’ but that doesn’t make sense. The shed should be over here.” His finger dances an inch to the left.
“The cabin used to be Victor’s work shed,” I reply. “Maybe that’s the cabin, not the garden shed.”
He nods. “That has to be it. All this over here, I don’t recognize.” He circles an area that saysprairie smoke field.
“That used to be a field, yeah. Back before Aunt Violet was anti-lawn.”
