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? I didn't have access to Mia's college library full of "old books."
I stood up and quickly wiped my eyes. Mom was busy in the kitchen, humming as the scent of cinnamon grew stronger. I had to act fast, and silently.
I ran upstairs, but I didn't go to my room. I went to my parent's den. It was a cozy room with a leather armchair, a big wooden desk, and a whole wall dedicated to a towering bookcase. Among the rows of tax books and boring grown-up novels, my dad kept something very important: a complete set of World Book Encyclopedias.
They were old and thick, bound in dark blue leather, and they covered every topic from A to Z.
I dragged the heavy footstool over and climbed up. I knew I couldn't search for "ghosts" or "monsters" without a specific clue. I had to focus on the things the creature had used to mark its presence.
I thought of the black feather. It was the most distinct, unusual thing.
I climbed up higher, searching the spines until I found the volumes with B and F.
I decided to try B first, for Bird. I lugged the heavy book down onto the desk, its pages smelling of dust and aged paper. I flipped through the "Bird" section. There were pictures of robins, eagles, blue jays... lots of birds with soft, fluffy feathers. But none of the feathers looked like mine—stiff, cold, and intense black.
Disappointed, I moved on. I tried F for Feathers. It was mostly about Native American traditions and quill pens. Nothing menacing.
I paused, chewing on my lip. The thing wasn't just the feather. It was also the cold, the whispering, and the old house.
The cold was the most important thing Mia had mentioned. What was cold and brought something with it?
I climbed back up the stool and pulled out the M volume. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I started flipping pages under M-Y-T-H (Mythology) and M-A-G-I-C.
I stumbled across a heading that caught my eye: M-A-L-A-K.
I struggled to read the dense text, sounding out the words until I reached a paragraph that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, just like it did on the playground. The entry talked about ancient legends from Northern Europe.
> "A Malak is described as a shadow spirit, not quite ghost, not quite demon. It attaches itself to a place, often an old home, but can be summoned to follow a bloodline. It is characterized by an unnatural cold and a voice that sounds like crumpled leaves when it is angered. They are said to leave behind dark tokens, sometimes a piece of petrified wood, but most frequently, a single, stiff black feather."
>
I leaned in closer, my heart pounding so hard I thought the creature downstairs might hear it. I had found it. The feather, the cold, the voice—it was all there.
The next sentence was scribbled over with faded blue marker, probably from one of my older cousins years ago, but I could still make out the words:
> "The Malak feeds on fear and broken trust. It attempts to isolate its victim by turning others against them."
>
My dad not believing me. The way the creature used Mia's name to make me feel alone. It was trying to break my trust in the people around me!
I quickly skimmed the section on how to ward it off. The last sentence was the most important, and mercifully, completely clear:
> "The only known defense is the use of Salt and Iron. Iron wounds it, and salt prevents its passing."
>
I had the knowledge Mia needed! I closed the heavy book, hoisted it back onto the shelf, and quickly climbed down, my mind already formulating the next message. I couldn't call, but I couldn't mail another letter, either. The mailbox was compromised.
I had to get the information to Mia safely, and then I had to figure out how to find iron and salt in a house with a Malak in it.
I had an idea for the message. Dad kept his car keys hanging on a hook near the back door. The car key fob had a button that could send a text message to Mom's phone, which she always left in her purse upstairs.
I needed to send two specific words to Mia: Malak and Salt.
I crept out of the den, the black feather clutched in my pocket, ready for the next move in our silent war.