Lester pedaled his bike up the final hill towards home with his sweatshirt tied around his waist.  The threatening rain clouds from earlier that morning had drifted south and, despite it being October, the day was warming quickly under a bright blue sky.

  The fields on either side of him were abuzz with activity.  Large green tractors scooped up long rows of dried cut grass, leaving a trail of hay bales behind.  These were then tossed onto the back of slow-moving trucks by a bevy of farmhands, ensuring their livestock would have feed for the coming winter.

  The girls had said goodbye at the last junction, deciding to take the road to Mae’s house.  They promised to meet Lester in the library basement after dinner.  He’d watched them go, Mae chattering away, while Amanda nodded in most of the right places, even though Lester suspected she wasn’t fully listening.  Were they becoming friends?  

  As he slowly climbed, accompanied only by the steady hum of machinery in the distance, Lester mulled over the morning’s events.  Their attempt to uncover the meaning of the symbol from the paper had left them with more questions than answers.  The stairway to nowhere.  The long-lost aunt.  The hidden grave.  How were these connected to The Council?  The strange clues left by his great-great-grandfather were like breadcrumbs in a maze, each one drawing them deeper into the heart of a twisting puzzle.  How far could they go before they wouldn’t be able to find their way out?  

  Cresting the hill, Lester was beginning to think Amanda was right about his inability to leave well enough alone when he was shaken from his thoughts by a familiar voice.      

  “Good morning, Lester!” Ben Titus called, stepping out through a gap in the tall grass that ran along the road’s edge.  He wore his usual navy blue work uniform, the pants of which were wet at the knees, and leaned heavily on his homemade walking stick. 

  “Hey, Ben,” Lester said, coasting his bike to a stop.  “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “Oh, just dropping off some flowers for Molly,” Ben said.

  Glancing behind the old postmaster, Lester saw a white cross sticking out of the ground at the base of a large oak tree.  A small vase of pink dahlias sat beside it.

  “I see,” Lester said, unsure what else to add.  He knew Ben’s wife was no longer alive, but they’d never spoken about the specifics of her passing.  He also knew what wooden crosses by the side of the road meant.

  “I usually leave them up at the cemetery, but now and then, I bring a few down this way.  Don’t really know why,” Ben said, looking out across the field.  “Maybe it’s because this was the last place she was alive.”

  “It was an accident?” Lester asked.  Then afraid he might have stepped too far into his friend’s personal life, he quickly added, “I don’t mean to pry.”

  “Nonsense,” said Ben.  “I’m the one that brought it up.  Anyway, it’s okay to talk about it.  Most people in town would prefer to pretend it never happened, but bad things don’t just go away because you ignore them, Lester.  Believe me; I’ve tried.”

  Ben took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “It was almost twenty years ago,” he said.  “Hard to believe it’s been so long.  Sometimes at night, I still think I hear her sleeping next to me.  She was a beautiful woman.  A beautiful woman with a wicked snore,” he added, with a weak smile.  “She’d been out volunteering at the senior center.  She was always quick to lend a hand to a good cause or someone who needed help.  Things ran late, and it was dark when she headed home.”

  Lester followed Ben’s gesture as he pointed.

  “When she came up over this hill, a boy, a little younger than you are now, ran out of this field and into the road.  She didn’t have time to stop.  It was hit him or swerve into these trees.  She never could stand to see anything get hurt.  Especially the littlest things in life.”

  “I am so sorry, Ben,” Lester said.  “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” Ben said, dabbing at his eyes.  He blew his nose on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.  “No reason you should.  It was all before your time.”

  “So, the kid survived?” asked Lester.

  “He did.  Molly saved his life that night at the cost of her own.  Not that it mattered much in the end.  As fate would have it, that same boy, the one she sacrificed herself for, died less than a week later.”

  “That’s terrible,” Lester said.

  “It’s something I’ve struggled with ever since,” said Ben.  “Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, does it.  One person’s life, so another might have a couple of extra days.  In my darker moments, I find myself thinking that if Molly hadn’t been able to steer clear in time and a different tragedy had occurred that night, that boy would be gone just the same.  But my Molly would still be here.”

Lester arrived home tired and sweaty.  He took a long hot shower, glad the water seemed to be obeying gravity today, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  Strolling down to the kitchen, he made himself a mustard, pickle, and jalapeño sandwich.  He was adding some spicy chips to his plate when he heard the front door open.

  “There you are,” his mother said, dropping her gym bag and giving him a peck on the cheek.  She was dressed in a white tennis outfit and matching sneakers.

  “Here I am,” Lester replied, pouring milk into a glass and sitting down at the kitchen table to eat.  He felt famished and began devouring his sandwich in large bites.

  “I was thinking,” his mother said, amused by his enthusiastic eating.  “Your father and Bernard won’t be back until after dinner.  So you and I should order some pizza and rent a movie tonight.”

  Through a mouthful of food, Lester replied with something that vaguely resembled, “Sounds good.”

  He enjoyed evenings with his mother, watching slapstick comedies together, and eating too much popcorn and candy.  And in light of recent events, the promise of it being just the two of them was even more appealing.

  Since the night in the alley behind The Mortician’s Eye, Lester had been avoiding his father.  Not that it had been hard.  Mr. North was almost always at work.  Lester, too, had found himself unusually busy.  Between long days at school, Mrs. Q’s lengthy homework assignments, and secret meet-ups with Amanda and Mae at the library, he rarely crossed paths with his father during the week.  Weekends, however, were a different story.

  Usually, Lester’s dad insisted on everyone spending quality time together.  But now that Bernard was part of the family business, both of them had been disappearing for long stretches.  Rule number one meant that no one discussed where they were or what they might be doing.  But Lester didn’t think he would’ve asked, even if he could.  He was no good at lying and was afraid he might let something slip if forced into a long conversation with his father.  Over the last few weeks, he and his friends had practically moved into the old basement.  The last thing they needed was anyone snooping around their secret headquarters.

  “So,” his mother asked, pulling the makings of a salad from the refrigerator, “where have you been all morning?”

  “Riding bikes with Amanda and Mae,” said Lester.

  “Mae?  Is she that odd girl who came by the other day?”

  “She’s not odd, mom.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay,” Lester said.  “She’s odd, but she’s nice.”

  “I never implied she wasn’t,” his mother said.  “She just seems a bit — peculiar.”

  Lester wanted to argue, but he couldn’t.  Mae was peculiar.  In the way she dressed, the things she said, and her passion for the strange and unusual.  But she was also a good friend who accepted him without conditions.  Being a kid from a Council family in Giles Hollow, this was rarely the case.  No one ever saw him as simply Lester.  It was always Lester North, of the Norths, but not Mae.  She was kind and funny, and his mother’s fear of anyone different made him angry.  After all, compared to some of the town’s other residents he’d recently met, Mae seemed positively ordinary.

  “Mom,” Lester said, as casually as he could, “did you ever meet Mr. Poole’s sister?”

  His mother’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.  “Who?” she asked, her attention suddenly shifting to the two-day-old newspaper sitting on the table.

  “Jennie Poole,” said Lester.  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” his mother said.  “Before Amanda was born, Daniel and Jennie were practically inseparable.  You seldom saw one without the other.”  She flipped the paper over and took another bite of her lunch.  “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.  Just curious, I guess.”

  Lester finished his sandwich and took his dishes to the sink.  He put the stopper in the bottom and watched the soap bubbles form as it filled with hot water.

  “Lester?” his mother asked, her voice quiet.  “Where were you really today?”

  Turning off the faucet, Lester began slowly washing his plate.  He could feel his mother’s eyes on him.  Should he tell her the truth?  After all, it wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong.  Okay, he’d accidentally witnessed his brother’s Drawing-In ceremony, eavesdropped on private conversations, stolen a secret journal, and followed his father and Mr. Poole to Elmwood City to spy on them.  But maybe he could leave most of that out.  Would she believe him if he told her what he’d seen?

  “I don’t want you to go near her again,” his mother said from behind him.  Her voice remained calm, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone.  “Is that clear?”

 “You knew!”  Lester spun around to face her.  “All this time, you knew Amanda’s aunt lived down in the valley, and you never said anything.” 

  “It’s not my place,” his mother said.  “If the Pooles wanted to tell her —”

  “Her parents know too!”

  Lester’s face grew hot.  He was still gripping the wet plate, and it was dripping soapy water onto the floor, creating a widening puddle.

  “I realize that keeping something like this from Amanda might seem unfair,” his mother said.  “But you need to appreciate that there are things you are not yet old enough to understand.”

  “Should I appreciate that Amanda and I are constantly being lied to?” Lester asked.  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he blinked his eyes as they rolled down his face.  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing and fought to keep calm as the room around him began to take on a reddish hue.  “It’s not enough that we obediently obey all of your stupid rules without question, but now you want us to be thankful?”  

  “Sweetie,” Mrs. North said, standing up from the table.  “All I meant was that you can trust us to have your best interests at heart?”

  “Us?” Lester said.  “You mean, you and Dad?”

  Lester’s brain was spinning, trying to put together pieces of information that refused to connect.  How did his mother know where he was that morning, and why did she care?  If it was only about keeping the Poole’s family secret, that ship had sailed when Amanda had seen the name on the grave.  Was she afraid he’d learn about the kind of work The Council was doing?  That was impossible.  It would mean she already knew about his father.  About what he could do, and — what he was.      

  Lester’s hands were balled into fists.  In his frustration, he’d let go of the plate he’d been holding and was now realizing he’d never heard it hit the floor.  Frowning, he looked down.  Astonishment shot through him as he stared at the plate floating in mid-air.  Water from the puddle at his feet was rising up and spinning around the dish’s edge, keeping it aloft as it revolved.

  Before his mother could notice what was happening, Lester quickly snatched the plate and flung it into the sink.  An explosion of soap suds, dishwater, and pottery shards, peppered the kitchen. 

 “Lester!” his mother cried.  “I know you’re upset, but honestly.  Take a breath.  Come sit down and let’s talk about this.”

 “You want to talk?” said Lester.  “Okay.  How about you start by telling me if there are any long-lost North family members you’re hiding?  Someone you and dad cast aside because they didn’t conform to your image of the perfect little family?  I mean, other than the one we all already know about.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Lester wanted to take them back.  He’d known it would hurt her, and that was why he’d said it.  But the pained look on his mother’s face quickly wilted the anger growing unchecked inside him.

  “Mom,” Lester said softly.  “I didn’t mean —”   

  “Enough!” his mother shouted and thrust out her hand.   

  Lester heard a noise like a deep thump, and a wave of pressure made his ears pop.  Suddenly dizzy, he gripped the sink to stay upright.  He was still determined to apologize and opened his mouth to say he was sorry, but nothing came out.  Swallowing hard, he tried again.  It was as though the words were literally stuck in his throat.  His larynx felt stiff and refused to cooperate, leaving him looking like a street mime or someone in the middle of a game of charades.

  Panicking, Lester looked to his mother for help, but she remained standing calmly across from him.  Couldn’t she see what was happening?  He moved to signal that he might be choking, even though he could still feel air moving in and out of his lungs.  Then he saw a flash of silver from between his mother’s fingers.

  Lester’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward.  Though he couldn’t see it clearly, somehow, he knew.  Dangling at the end of the necklace she gripped so tightly hung a medallion identical to the one Bernard had received at his Drawing-In ceremony. 

  “You will stop!” his mother said, trembling.  “And you will listen to me!”

  Unable to argue, even if he wanted to, Lester had only one option.

  “Don’t,” his mother said, following his gaze out of the kitchen.

  They stood staring at one another for a brief moment, like two wild west gunslingers, each waiting for the other to make a move.

  Lester’s mother broke the stalemate by reaching for him.  Ducking beneath her outstretched arm, Lester spun and charged for the exit.  His quick action gave him a sizable lead, but as he circled the breakfast table, his foot caught on his mother’s gym bag.  The next thing he knew, he was sailing through the air and into the front hallway.  He came down hard on a small antique wooden stand.  It shattered beneath him, sending the crystal lamp atop it crashing to the floor.

  “Lester!” his mother called.  “Are you alright?”

  Before she could reach him, Lester scrambled to his feet.  Pain shot through his knee just below a large gash in his jeans, and something wet was running down his leg.  Ignoring the burning sensation, he limped the last few steps to the front door and flung it open.

  “Wait!” Mrs. North pleaded, rushing up from behind.  “You don’t understand.”  She let go of the necklace and grabbed for the back of Lester’s shirt, but he twisted away.

  As he stumbled outside into the quiet of the warm afternoon, Lester felt a tingling sensation flow through his throat.

  “Lester, please!”  his mother cried from the doorway.  “Come back.  I’m sorry.”

  Lester did not reply as he sprinted down the driveway and out of sight.