Forecast

By Elise Stephens

From Writers of the Future winner Elise Stephens

The psychic gift of prophecy has torn apart Calvin Forsyth’s family before. For many generations, the ability to see the future has come tied to a life-altering curse and the chilling attention of a secret society intent on drawing the Forsyth bloodline under its power.

Fate seems determined that 15-year-old Calvin will not escape the same destiny. Through use of a magic door in a New Jersey forest, he awakens his own sight and plunges into a swirling world of portents and shadow where lines between friend and foe are blurred and his own talent threatens to consume his mind.

Should he accept the help of the beautiful girl who appears on his doorstep, claiming she has the same gift of sight, or should he undergo training from a wise sage who regards the door and its psychic gifts as mind-poisons?

Calvin must brave extraordinary trials to wield his sight, defend his family, and prepare to battle not just the ominous society that beckons him, but the man who’s caused his world the greatest grief and pain—his father.

Filled with suspense and intrigue, Forecast is a coming-of-age tale of love and sacrifice in a fight against otherworldly powers. It will keep readers guessing at its twists and turns right up to its breathtaking conclusion.

“Elise Stephens is one of the most exciting and talented writers I’ve encountered in a long, long time. “ –Robert Clark, author of MR. WHITE’S CONFESSION, Edgar Award Winner

“I finished the book without stopping. I just COULDN’T put it down. Recommended to anyone wanting a fun story with addicting characters, and an ending that blows all your guesses to shame.” –B.J. Gaskill, Amazon Reviewer

“Reminded me of Dan Brown’s books— [filled] with excitement and adventure…Like a good film, I was sorry when the book ended.” –Isobel C., Amazon Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon Moon Press
• Release date: Mar 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781774000052

Elise Stephens

Elise Stephens uses adventure and mystery in her fiction to set stages for provocative questions. She counts authors Neil Gaiman, C.S. Lewis, and Margaret Atwood among her literary mentors, and has studied under Orson Scott Card. Her work explores themes of beauty within imperfection and finding purpose after a great loss. Visit Elise www.EliseStephens.com and on Facebook.

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Praise for Forecast

Through ardent, unstinting labor and an unstoppable drive, Stephens has wrought a coming of age tale that whisks the reader deep into Otherworld—that unseen place you hope is there, behind the wall, through the magic portal—because you know where the door is, but where is the key? If you’re into urban fantasy, Forecast is the book for you. A stunning novel for our age.

—Robert J. Ray, author of

THE WEEKEND NOVELIST Series

Elise Stephens has written an enchanting, atmospheric novel for young adults that is exquisitely crafted. In FORECAST, the teenage protagonists Calvin and Cleo, draw you in immediately. The twins are authentic young people with daring and heart.  You empathize with them and cheer them on as they uncover the family power that the universe has granted them. FORECAST is a transformative read that combines suspense, mystery, magic, and sentiment. It holds the key to unlock any teen’s imagination.  

—Gale Martin, author of DON JUAN IN

HANKEY, PA and GRACE UNEXPECTED

Forecast

Elise Stephens

Copyright 2019 Elise Stephens

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [e-mail]

Edited by Katie Flanagan

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

EPUB ISBN 978-1-77400-005-2

To Elliot and Erika,

My siblings, friends, partners in crime,

and co-owners of the inside jokes

that only the three of us will ever understand.

I love and treasure you

more than you’ll ever know.

Acknowledgments

This book could not have been written and the sanity of its author maintained without the nourishing love and encouragement of so many kind friends.

THANK YOU

To Jesus, my model of creativity and truth: for guiding me in this process and laying the themes of future and family so deeply on my heart.

To my husband, James: for listening to me read drafts out loud and for your endless patience with my musings, worries, and roller-coaster mood swings. Thanks for liking this book.

To the Inky Fingers: Hilary, Scott, Kevin, Daniel, Michael, Angel, and Will, for pouring out your thoughts and reactions to this work, for cheering me on, and for heaping more praise upon my fragile soul whenever criticism threatened to crush me. You guys are the best.

To the Notion Club: for your boundless excitement to hear each installment of this book and for making me feel like a star. Stars need their light to be seen, and your friendship has been a great inspiration. Thank you to Nate and Travis for the beautiful Greek translation for the Humboldt Manor door.

To my family: for continuing to support and respect my dreams and storytelling, and for welcoming me into your home as my ‘second office.’ Knowing that I have your vote tinges this difficult journey with joy.

To my friends and counselors: for reading this book and telling me that it was worthwhile, that I should keep writing, that you believed in me, and that you couldn’t wait to hear the rest. Your words are more precious than sapphires.

PROLOGUE

January 15, 1980

Early Morning

On the morning Joseph buried the key, he wrapped it in white silk and placed it in his winter coat. Night rain had glossed a thick sheen of ice over the earth, forest, and all the manor’s windows. Joseph melted the bathroom window seam with hot tap water and wriggled through it since creaking floorboards and mothers had signed a pact centuries ago. He had to shove his coat out the window ahead of him so he was small enough to fit. Once outside, he shivered violently in his boots and pajamas as he jammed his arms into his sleeves and blew breath down his collar to defrost his freezing heart.

The massive weight of the key pressed on him, heavy enough to split his pocket lining. He walked with a limp, one foot pounding the ice-crusted earth as he roamed the forest, seeking a hiding place to guard his strange and precious gift. The unfairness of his promise rang through the leafless wood, and Joseph imagined mournful wind-whispers that told him he shouldn’t surrender the one thing his father had given him, no matter what he’d vowed.

Frightened by the shadows of the trees, Joseph’s feet turned back toward the shelter of the tall house with the second story room where he’d met his father for the first and only time. His father had passed away in that same room two weeks before, eighteen days after Joseph had seen him.

Again the icy unfairness choked Joseph, but it couldn’t subdue the fire of his promise. A small sound, insistent but unobtrusive, tapped like a drum on Joseph’s soul, which was already stretched tight with longing.

His eyes roved the frozen lily pond, then turned up to the frigid sky. Christmas sparkle had faded with the passage of the old year. A few clouds in the pre-dawn firmament crumpled like discarded wrapping paper, and the woodpile reeked of mold. The house’s tears tumbled down two big drainpipes, the largest of which opened onto the ground in front of Joseph’s feet.

It was this ping—tap—thump that had woken him earlier. The drainpipe’s drip had summoned him here. Where else would frozen earth be soft enough for digging than under falling water? He knelt, ignoring the mud that seeped into his flannel pants, and dug earth chunks free with his fingers. He rinsed his palms in the falling trickle and withdrew the key.

Rest in peace, he thought. He imagined the tired, hopeless eyes of his father and their bewilderment when Joseph’s mother introduced Joseph and his sister to him with, Percy, these are our twins.

That day, Joseph’s father had given him this key and made him promise to hide it. Joseph had agreed with as much earnestness as his heart could command. He couldn’t deny this first and only request.

Suddenly it wasn’t just the rain pipe dripping, but his eyes were dripping, and then his nose ran. Joseph lowered the key carefully into its hole, the pale silk wrapping bright against the dark earth. He placed a large stone over the key, then stamped the sodden earth closed, gritting his teeth to hold a sob captive. He glanced once more at the second story window, then looked away.

He hung his head, wiped his nose, and prayed. He prayed for security and protection, for warnings and obstacles against the key’s discovery. He pressed a handprint into the earth, then stood, scrubbed his palm on his pajamas, and prepared to scramble again through the bathroom window.

Dark lashes and a round face observed him like his own reflection from the other side of the windowpane. He’d begged his twin not to follow him, but now that the deed was done, he couldn’t shut her out anymore.

Joseph touched the window, and a curl of ice fell to the ground as Hazel opened it for him. They crept back to their room with the twin beds, and he pulled his blanket over their feet as they huddled together on his bed.

Hazel hugged her knees. Her flannel nightgown had a pattern of moons and shooting stars, and the collar was wet where she’d chewed it.

Did you do it? she whispered.

I buried it.

Is it safe?

The house is guarding it. It’s as safe as I can make it.

That afternoon, as Joseph and Hazel drove away from the house, their mother tight-lipped at the wheel, he stared at the iron bars along the outer gate. Withered bouquets still clung to the fence, left by strangers who mourned the death of the great Percy Humboldt, his father.

Joseph squished his palm against the cold glass of the car window and watched items pass: the funeral flowers, the looming gate, the forest beyond, and finally, looking over his shoulder, the outline of Humboldt Manor with the key below in its earth until, at last, everything faded into the sheathing protection of distance.

CHAPTER ONE

June 28, 2010

Afternoon

Calvin wrote on the blank side of an air sickness bag:

Pros and Cons for going to New Jersey:

Pros:

Rent is free.

We’ll have way more room than in that cramped apartment.

Mom won’t have to cook for us.

The sound of clicking teeth made him look up. Cleo was biting her nails with such ferocity, she’d chomp flesh if she wasn’t careful. His sister leaned from her middle seat to see out the airplane window as the Chicago skyline melted into clouds beneath them. She didn’t turn when he touched her arm.

A woman rushed down the aisle to use the lavatory, as if she’d been waiting all day just to crouch over a metal bowl of pungent blue chemicals. Flying made Calvin queasy, but it would be worth it, he promised himself. This distance from Chicago—hell, from all of Illinois—would be perfect. Still, his stomach rolled.

Cleo needs me, he reminded himself.

He asked her gently, What’s going on?

Her phobias sometimes developed without warning, and he just hoped it wasn’t a fear of heights today. His jeans pocket itched where his knife should have been.

Damn airport security.

Cleo’s pigtails flapped against her shoulders as she turned. I guess I miss home already, she said, and Mom. She fingered their grandmother’s silver locket, then flipped it open to look at the photos of their mother and Uncle Joseph.

Her nostalgia was nothing unusual.

Mom will be fine, Calvin assured her. She needs her space, too.

And we need our freedom even more, he added silently. This summer’s our last chance to act our age.

He couldn’t believe his mother hadn’t mentioned their family access to the house until a few months ago, almost as if it were a guarded secret. He’d been dreading the start of their junior year because only this stood between him and the next summer he’d spend locked in the library, advance researching for college scholarships. If he didn’t manage the funding, there’d be trouble. He and Cleo incurred a double expense: they’d graduate together, the curse of twins. Most kids’ thoughts were far from this topic as their sixteenth birthday approached, but not Calvin.

His neck flamed as Cleo resumed nail-biting. It was so completely backwards to see Cleo worrying over her mother’s emotional health on her own summer vacation. He forced his voice soft. Is it just Mom you’re worried about?

Cleo flinched as the man in the window seat pushed her elbow off the armrest. It was meant to look accidental, but Calvin knew better.

Hey, you bought the view. You don’t own the chair.

The man vacated the armrest, eyebrows raised.

Calvin missed the brave version of Cleo. In second grade, she’d stood up to bullies who’d mocked Calvin’s lisp, but these days, he was the one who looked after her. Calvin grabbed an in-flight magazine and turned to the crossword. Cleo loved those. When he looked up, her cheeks were pink.

You don’t have to do that, she whispered.

Do what?

Always defend me like that. It’s embarrassing. She straightened to her full height, an inch taller than him when sitting, a crime for which he’d yet to forgive her. Nevertheless, the crossword worked its magic, and she uncapped the pen he gave her from his backpack. A second later, her forehead crumpled.

I just keep thinking, ‘Will Dad come back while we’re gone?’ she said.

The two voicemails Martin had left on their mother’s phone just one week ago were troubling, especially after years of hearing nothing, but by the time the calls had come in, Calvin had already purchased the plane tickets with his hard-earned savings, and he wasn’t letting anything or anyone turn them around.

Martin’s not coming back. He leaned into the aisle to check for the beverage cart. And even if he does, Mom’s had therapy and learned good stuff from her meetings. She’ll be all right.

Cleo’s eyes glistened. She nodded and turned back to the crossword.

Calvin sighed. Apparently, he could still convince an audience better than he could convince himself.

Your father isn’t going to do anything that I don’t let him do, his mom had said, after promising them she wouldn’t return Martin’s calls. But that’s the problem, Calvin had thought. His mother had finally stopped slouching and even dated a few other men, but Calvin remembered how pathetically fast she always melted in Martin’s presence. No one was 100% immune to strong poison.

He returned to his pros list:

It’ll be good for Cleo to be away from Mom.

It’ll be really good for me to be away from Mom.

I’ll finally feel like Martin isn’t watching over my shoulder.

This is our last chance to really play for the summer.

We’ve never explored this manor place before.

He paused, chewed the end of his pen, and began his cons column:

Cons:

Cleo doesn’t do well away from Mom, and I might have to take care of her the whole time.

We don’t know anyone in New Jersey.

Martin could come back while we’re gone, and Mom would be all alone with him.

He immediately scratched out the last item because it was dumb. He had to be stronger and smarter than Cleo.

He wouldn’t come back.

Calvin unzipped his Linkin Park sweatshirt. It was surprisingly warm for an airplane cabin. So what are you looking forward to doing while we’re out there? he asked Cleo.

She tilted her head. Reading all the books I brought without getting interrupted by chores or homework. I’ll find some new flowers and press them for bookmarks.

You make me yawn just thinking about it.

Oh yeah? What are you planning to do?

Buy weird food from street vendors; sneak in the back door of a movie theater and watch something for free; travel as far as I can on a bus, then spend the whole day walking home, looking at everything.

So you want to get yourself killed, she surmised. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. ‘Life without risks is a life unlived,’ right? Though she’d spoken sarcastically, Cleo wore mildly amused resignation on her lips.

Calvin grinned. There was a reason his debate team always offered him the tough-to-argue positions that frustrated the rest of them: he thrived on the adrenaline rush of knowing he had a chance, yet could still so easily lose.

The flight attendant arrived with the beverages. Cleo ordered ginger ale. Calvin sweet-talked his way into two cans of Coke. Cleo knuckled his ribs. He looked at her.

What?

She was squinting at the crossword. What’s an eight letter word for seeing something in advance? F—O—blank—blank—C—blank—blank—blank.

Calvin peered at the boxes. Seeing the future sounds useful. Hmmm…looks like the word’s ‘forecast.’

In baggage claim, as Cleo wrestled her huge suitcase off the carousel, he retrieved his pocket knife from the top of his duffel bag. Just being parted from it for the two-hour flight had made him edgy. He and the knife had been inseparable since the day he’d discovered it on the floor of a Yosemite campsite when he was eight years old.

As he was tucking it into his jeans, a beautiful woman in a tight-fitting pinstriped business skirt and blouse approached them. The acrid smell of the airport was eclipsed by peach perfume.

Are you related to the Humboldt family? the woman asked in a pleasant alto buzz.

That’s the last name of our grandfather, Calvin replied, a little dizzy. To his instant embarrassment, his stomach growled. He’d eaten only salted peanuts on the plane.

The peach-scented woman flashed a silver business card. After her name, he read:

Astrologer. Business and Life Consultant.

A rhinestone twinkled inside each of the Os.

Please notify me if the family business re-opens, she said. Her eyes sparkled, either with urgency or curiosity. You’re twins, I take it?

Calvin found it difficult to speak, but Cleo nodded.

Amazing, the woman said.

Calvin blushed as she hurried away, her heels hitting the floor like stone hammers.

Cleo peered at the card. Did she say ‘family business’? Do our ancestors have, like, connections to the mob?

Calvin shrugged, and his stomach roared. He wouldn’t buy food from the overpriced airport shops if he could help it. The thought of money reminded him that he’d need a stash of his own if he wanted to keep Cleo from telling him how to spend each dollar of their allowance.

He pushed the business card into his pocket beside his knife. The encounter was probably just due to his good looks. That sort of thing happened.

Uh... Cleo whispered, don’t look now, but that lady just took our picture with her cell phone.

With his suspicions confirmed and a springy step in his gait, Calvin shouldered his duffel, pulled Cleo’s bag on its wheels, and walked with her through the sliding doors to the outdoor curb. The light was bright and blinding. As they passed a TSA agent, Calvin sensed the man’s visor swinging to follow. A pair of eyes grabbed his shoulder, like eagle talons. As Calvin looked back, the TSA official noticed something else and turned away. Calvin’s eyes landed on the back of a portly gentleman with a briefcase and a huge bump of cash in his back pocket.

Be right back, Calvin said, dropping their bags at Cleo’s feet.

By the time Cleo realized what he was doing, he would be too far away for her to shout without making a scene. When he returned, lobbing the wallet easily from hand to hand, she just shook her head.

"I guess Martin taught me something useful," Calvin said.

You have a sick sense of humor, you know that? Cleo shot her hand into the air as if she were drowning.

Seconds later, a lemon yellow cab slid beside them, and they crawled in, panting with mild excitement and adrenaline. It was only as the cab pulled safely into traffic that the robbed gentleman began patting his back pocket in disbelief.

The crooked-nosed cabbie grinned at them in his rearview mirror. To Humboldt Manor?

Calvin and Cleo exchanged looks. Neither had given him an address.

Calvin replied slowly, How did you know that?

You’re the spitting image of Percy Humboldt, the cabbie returned. I’m frankly surprised you didn’t know.

Do I look like him, too? Cleo asked.

The cabbie studied her in the rearview mirror. I’d say you favor the missus.

Cleo frowned, then demanded, So how do you know our grand-father?

I was a kid when he died, and I can still picture the photo on the coffin. The cabbie sighed. It was the funeral of the century, you know.

Calvin would have asked more, but Cleo pinched his arm and shook her head, sucking in her cheeks so she looked exactly like their mother. He relented and watched the freeway thin to city streets. Eventually, large houses appeared with more and more trees pushing them apart. He wondered if the housekeeper that their mother had mentioned had left out food for their arrival. Finally, the cab pulled onto a lonely lane.

The road ran between an iron gate that stood half open, room enough for a small car to pass. Two square-edged stone pillars flanked the gate. A plaque on one read Humboldt Manor. Below it, a rectangular patch of cleaner stone with four holes bored into the corners implied a second plaque had been removed.

Cleo tapped his shoulder and pointed to the arrowhead tips of the fence. Faded flower bouquets were bound to the bars with tattered ribbons. Looks like one of those car crash memorial things, she said.

Calvin nodded as the car passed through. The wheels crunched on the gravel drive, and he noticed how silent everything had become, like entering the 24-hour quiet ward where his mother had once stayed for two nights. He couldn’t shake the thought that tickled the back of his neck, murmuring that he’d run from one bad family story and tumbled right into another one.

CHAPTER TWO

June 28, 2010

Late Afternoon

You wanted to see me, Randolf? Natalie leaned against the doorway.

Randolf’s bedroom was a shrine to metal and technology. A single electric-blue lamp glowed on his computer desk as the man paced in a pool of artificial twilight with a large coffee mug in hand. His face muscles bunched tense around his mouth, and his white hair hung shaggy around his ears.

Sleep well? he asked her without a trace of interest.

Drug-induced coma against my will is my favorite. So, Natalie tilted her head, as if considering, yes, it was lovely. She flashed him a false smile.

His eyes darted behind her to where the guards stood in position, ready at a moment’s notice to restrain her.

Well? she smirked, "Who dares disturb my slumber? to quote Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Randolf cleared his throat and stopped pacing. There’s a pair of siblings I need you to visit. They’re Percy Humboldt’s grandchildren and just arrived at the family manor in New Jersey. You know, I’d almost lost hope. Thought they’d never come. He cleared his throat. With Percy’s blood in their veins, we have high hopes for—

Don’t, she interrupted. We don’t say the word. We can only pray. Natalie clasped her hands in mock reverence. When should I be ready?

As soon as possible. The excitement in Randolf’s voice made it crack. I want you near, helping pique interest in the family legacy of the door. He turned to face her. As you know, I’m mainly interested in the boy. If the lost key is indeed lost, we’ll find a way to get another copy made. One way or another, when the boy does use the door, you’ll be the helping hand who explains his confusing feelings to him. He’ll cling to you like a baby to his mother’s breast.

No references to breasts, please and thank you.

Go to your room and pack. Your flight leaves late tonight.

She bowed. With pleasure. She let several seconds fall, then added, sir, before exiting.

Natalie felt his fear trailing her like a skittish mouse. She tightened the silk belt on her kimono as she glided down the hall. Luckily for her, she knew that Randolf knew his mission would fail without her help.

Still, he’d grown more desperate and controlling over the past year, especially after his experiments underwent five failed pregnancies in a row. He’d created a serum injection that sent her into a nightmare-plagued sleep for up to seven days at a time and had already employed it on three occasions, each of those times she’d pushed him too far. Natalie knew he rejoiced to have at last found something with which to threaten her, or maybe it was his twisted way of punishing her for the failed experiments.

Natalie pulled a bottle of pills from her kimono pocket, shook five into her palm, and swallowed them dry. Randolf had made so many things, just for her. He’d invented Clairvoynix when she was nine years old. By then, she’d already given him plenty to worry about.

Her headache receded, and she relished the buzz spreading through her veins. The pills heightened her senses, accentuated her sight, shrank her need for sleep to a few hours a week, and were powerfully addictive. Of course, Randolf hadn’t told her the last part until after she couldn’t live without them.

The guards followed close behind Natalie to ensure she returned to her room. Once inside, she roused her laptop from hibernation and fired up the monitor grid of the door network. She highlighted the Humboldt Manor door and zoomed in until its glowing blue rectangle dominated her screen.

The door’s border blinked on and off contentedly, displaying its status in white numerals as last used on a date forty years prior.

June 28, 2010

Evening

I assume you’ve told the housekeeper you were coming? the cabbie inquired good-naturedly, his shoulders swinging with the potholed road.

Our mom told her, Cleo answered.

The wet wind emulated one of those haunted house upsweeps that wait for a car to climb a steep hill before starting to blow. A few green leaves splattered against Cleo’s side of the car like tomatoes hurled by rioters.

The cabbie chattered over the whistling wind, Your grandfather left provisions to support all family visits. That’s what they said on the Humboldt Manor tours, anyhow. Looks like someone is fixing you a welcome dinner. He nodded at a smoke stream from a chimney up ahead.

Calvin’s stomach growled as the cab’s wheels ground to a halt. A trophy-shaped stone fountain in the middle of the round drive spurted ferns and blue flowers. As they climbed out, Cleo picked a flower and tucked it behind her ear.

A small VW bug with peeling red paint squatted beside the house near an old animal feeding trough crowded by hollyhocks.

Cleo will call Mom as soon as we get settled, Calvin predicted. She’d want to report a safe arrival. Always the good child.

He reached into his bag for their allowance money, paid the cabbie, and pulled their bags onto the porch steps. Calvin squeezed the diminished envelope of funds and congratulated himself on his new extra reserves. Cleo stared at the house.

It was built in the colonial style, painted slate gray and black with lighter gray accents along the windows and eaves. It rose three stories, but the upper floor windows were shut in with lace curtains. A rooster-shaped weathervane creaked haphazardly above them, spinning in a lopsided flop.

The front door opened, and a round-cheeked, chubby woman with silver-streaked, dark hair greeted them. She wore a faded black dress and a white crocheted apron. Her forehead lines communicated service and sacrifice.

About time! The bird’s almost done. Only a little pink to go! Come in!

She nodded to the cabbie, who tipped his chin respectfully and wished her a good evening as she ushered Calvin and Cleo inside. She closed the door and instructed them to leave their luggage in the entry. Calvin noticed a huge oblong photo of a well-built man with thick dark hair.

There was a second photo, black and white, of a fashionable couple standing arm-in-arm in a garden. The man was the same one in the large portrait photo. The woman on his arm seemed to be a wife, and she reminded Calvin of someone. Another woman stood to the side, but still in the frame, wearing a plain frock. A handwritten plaque under the photo read,

Percy, Ingrid, Mable, 2nd Wedding Anniversary, Colonial Park Gardens.

That was it. He’d recognized his Grandma Ingrid. Before Calvin could compare Percy’s facial features to his own, he heard a throat clear.

The aproned woman pointed at his and Cleo’s feet, snapped her fingers twice, then bundled their shoes together and tossed them into a closet.

They trailed her past a massive rosewood staircase and into a dark dining room with tall glass windows and the shapes of trees and tall grasses beyond. The woman disappeared through another door, and the scent of broth and spices wafted in her wake. The table could have accommodated twenty-four large men with plenty of elbow room. Three chandeliers, gilded and adorned with cream-colored feathers, loomed above but offered no illumination. Two silk placemats had been topped with china plates, crystal glasses, and extra spoons and forks, as would have been appropriate if the president were coming to dinner.

Out of place. That’s how I feel right now, Calvin whispered as he ran his hand along the wood wainscoting. This dining room was more like a greenhouse. Tall windows looked onto the back yard, side yard, and hall. The only windowless wall bore the kitchen door through which the woman had disappeared.

He added, Do you think they even have a microwave in this place?

There’s a lot we don’t know about our grandfather, Cleo said, diplomatically.

A match flared, and the woman reappeared with a candle in a silver base. Calvin pointed at the chandeliers overhead, but the woman didn’t notice, or maybe she just wanted to spook them. The flame flickered on the gold rimmed plates.

Sit, the woman ordered. I’ll be back.

Cleo made Calvin put his napkin in his lap. The woman appeared with a large pot clasped between two mitts.

Careful, now. It’s hot. She lifted the lid to reveal a small roasted hen with crackling brown skin that smelled of butter and spices on a bed of golden rice.

She’d turned to leave when Calvin called, What’s your name?

She seemed surprised. I’m Mrs. Mable Seabrook, the housekeeper here. You may call me ‘Mrs. Seabrook.’ I’ll take care of you and the house during the days you remain here.

Oh, Calvin said. I guess we just thought you came by once a week and left food in the fridge. The idea of constant supervision wasn’t exactly thrilling to him.

Mrs. Seabrook’s face fell slightly, but she pulled her smile up again so quickly, Calvin couldn’t be sure he’d seen it disappear.

He said, We’re here because I wanted a break from the place Cleo likes to call ‘home.’ Soon we’ll have to think about college, and the idea of staying all summer in Chicago with a crazy mom— here Cleo elbowed him hard in the ribs —isn’t the most liberating.

Mrs. Seabrook drew her hands into her apron pockets and swept out.

This house feels sad, Cleo whispered as she lifted her fork. Oh! I need to call Mom! She pulled out her cell phone, then frowned. No service.

Calvin stared at the woods through the back windows. He’d imagined Humboldt Manor as somewhere accessible by public transportation, somewhere in the city where he could easily walk to half a dozen places, not an isolated tower on a forested hill. If the place really was as ancient as it looked, was electricity