I spent the rest of recess and the entire afternoon staring blankly at the blackboard, the crumpled note burning a hole in my pocket. I knew I couldn't wait for a letter. The pencil drawing of the soldier—my soldier—and the slashed stick figures holding hands was a clear, chilling message: my secret messenger was compromised, and Mia was in danger.
As soon as the final bell rang, I bolted. I didn't wait for Mom to pick me up; I ran the six blocks home, ignoring the shouts of my friends.
I burst through the front door, slamming it behind me. The house was quiet and smelled of the cinnamon rolls Mom had promised to bake. Normal. Deceptively normal.
I raced straight for the phone. I knew I was breaking Mia's rule, but the safety of my sister was more important than the risk of being overheard. I snatched the cordless phone, ran into the laundry room—the place with the most closed doors—and frantically dialed her number.
She answered on the first ring. "Hello?" she sounded breathless.
"Mia! It's me, Leo! You have to listen!" I whispered, my voice frantic and high-pitched. "I think the thing read my letter. It knew I sent it! I got a note at school today, on the playground. It said, 'Mia is not safe!'"
"Leo, slow down!" Mia's voice was strained, no longer the calm, steady voice from last night. "I just got to my mailbox here. Your drawing just came. And Leo... there's something stuck to the back of the envelope."
My blood ran cold. "What is it?"
"It's a single, black feather," she whispered. "Exactly like the one you described. It wasn't sticky or taped—it was pressed right into the paper like it was part of the seal."
The creature hadn't just intercepted my message; it had used my own secret code against me, delivering a warning to Mia at the same time the letter arrived, and sending a separate threat to me at school. It was playing a malicious, long-distance game.
"Mia, you have to leave your dorm," I urged. "It can find you! It knows we're talking right now, I know it does! Please, just go to the library or a friend's house! Don't be alone!"
"I can't just leave, Leo," she said, though her voice wavered. "But I'm going to the college library right now. They have old books. I need to find out what this thing is, what the feather means, and if there's any way to stop it."
"Be careful," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "If you find anything, don't tell me over the phone. Write it down, and tell me that you finished your 'Ancient Civilizations homework.' Okay? That's our new code."
"Ancient Civilizations homework," she repeated. "Got it. And you, Leo? You stay out of the dark. Don't go near the clock. Don't go near the hall. Don't even look at the portrait. Just stay safe."
I hung up the phone, collapsing against the washing machine. We were seven and twenty, miles apart, communicating in codes, fighting a battle against something old and cold that could move across time and distance.
I still had my little feather in my pocket, the stiff, black object that felt like the eye of the storm.
I needed to help Mia with her "homework." But how could a seven-year-old in a haunted house research a ghost that could communicate telepathically and teleport objects?