by Kaleb Nation
"Idiots," she muttered with distaste. "Can’t even put them back on the shelf."
She looked like she was about to come in, and then Bran knew he would be caught. But she only shrugged and started to slide the door closed. Bran let out the breath he had been holding.
That was very close, he thought. Then he noticed something in the mirror.
His entire body was gone in thin air: every inch of him completely invisible. It made him jump, and the moment he did his concentration on being unseen must have departed, because the next second he was there in the reflection, all in one piece. Luckily for him, it was in that same second that she finished closing the door, and Bran was immediately engulfed in darkness.
He covered his mouth and tried to catch his breath with as little sound as he could. But immediately he knew why she hadn’t seen him: somehow, he had done magic again without knowing it.
Still, he felt that it would be in his best interest to leave that room as quickly as he could. He doubted he could do the magic again if he wanted to, and he was pushing his luck already. He left the books on the floor and was about to set the newspaper back, when he realized that he had already peeled its disguise off, and had not even gotten to read it. So he folded it until it was very small, and jammed it into his pocket, stepping toward the door. The girl had closed it all the way, and it felt locked.
"Great," Bran said. He listened again, but no one was there, so he flipped the flashlight back on. Luckily, he saw a tiny catch that was holding the door closed, attached to a spring that obviously went to a hidden button outside. He felt the latch and lifted it, flipping the light off as he edged the door open slightly. He peered out. No one was there.
He stepped out slowly. He hadn’t realized how stuffy and hot it had been in the hidden room, as the air outside was much easier to breathe. He checked again but saw no one, and then closed the door behind him. With quick, quiet motions, he started back the way he had come.
"That was way too close," he breathed, coming to the corner. But before he could go around it, someone grabbed him.
Chapter 11
Another Burglary
Got you!" bran heard a man yell, and he felt strong arms take hold of him. Bran shouted, but the man held him in a vice-like grip before Bran had fully realized what was happening. "Shoplifter!" the man yelled. Bran fought the man’s hold and broke free once, but the next instant the man had him again and slammed his face against the wall, pinning his arms behind him. Bran winced in pain and tried to breathe. "Villain!" the man said, holding Bran’s arms. "I’ve caught you!" "No, please!" Bran begged, feeling as if his ribs were going to break. "Astara!" the man shouted, and suddenly, lights burst on all around Bran. He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and saw the girl rushing from between the boxes, now holding a broom. "I’ve caught the little thief!" the man said, and Bran was wrenched around to face his captor. He was a tall, strong man, his skin wrinkled a bit and tanned darkly, his face rough and full of anger. He had a dark yellow beard that covered his face, all the way up to the thick hair that was the same color. He looked like a hardened farmer. Bran guessed his age to be about fifty.
"Couldn’t find enough books in the front?" the man growled in an angry tone. "So you decided to take my ones from the back?"
"No, please, sir!" Bran said, pointing a shaking finger down the way to the desk, trying to think of any excuse. "If you follow me, I’ll show you, I didn’t take anything! Just…helping someone find something, that’s all."
"Helping someone find something?" the man echoed, not believing him. "There ain’t a single soul back here, besides myself and my shopkeeper, Astara."
He waved his hand toward the girl. There was anger in her eyes, a green mixed with blue that almost bored holes into him. But her gaze held no recognition. Bran knew if she hadn’t seen him they wouldn’t accuse him of being in the secret room, as it wasn’t even supposed to exist.
"No, sir, I promise," Bran said quickly, pointing back toward the desk. "Rosie…she came to the door, and unlocked it, and told me to go through the papers back there."
"Papers, eh?" the man said, still not believing him. He tilted Bran’s face up close to his.
"Show me what this Rosie’s having you get into," he said, "and maybe I’ll have me two shoplifters before the day’s over!"
He let go of one of Bran’s arms and had him stand against the wall. Bran walked slowly with the man holding his shoulder and Astara watching from the side.
"These here, sir," Bran said, trying to sound convincing. He gestured to the boxes that Rosie had told him to move, and the man’s face seemed to grow harsher as Bran showed him.
"Those, boy," the man said, "are none of anyone’s business!"
"Yes, sir," Bran stammered. "But—"
The man didn’t let him finish, but he let go of Bran’s arm and moved to the desk, and saw the file Bran had left sticking out. Bran heard the man give out a small gasp, but a moment later he covered up his surprise.
"A-and what’s your business going around looking at these?" the man asked. "Emry Hambric and all…whoever she is. Don’t you know these are official city records?"
Bran looked at his feet and glanced from the man to Astara. The man pointed at the box.
"Why’re you looking through these?" he demanded again.
"I…" Bran started, but he couldn’t bring it out. He swallowed hard, and felt as if there were a rock in his throat. The man looked at him, cold and unforgiving. "Because I think Emry Hambric was my mother," Bran finally said, looking up at them.
The girl started at this.
"What did you say?" she gasped.
The man slammed the folder down on the desk. "Your mother?" he asked with bewilderment. "What’s your name? Who’re your parents?"
Bran hesitated. "I—I don’t have any parents. I live with Sewey and Mabel Wilomas. My name…" He paused before finishing. "My name is Bran Hambric."
The girl suddenly dropped her broom flat on the floor, and Bran jumped, and when he looked at her he could see she was visibly shaken.
"You are Bran Hambric? " the man said, and when Bran looked back at him, he could see that the man was also taken by surprise, which confused Bran very much. Bran nodded.
"And you think that Emry Hambric was your mother?" the man went on.
"Yes," Bran said. "But I don’t know for sure."
He looked at Bran deeply. It looked as if he was thinking very hard about something.
"Funny thing is," the man finally said, "that folder’s marked to hold a police report in it. Leaves me wondering what your mother’s got to do with the police…and an empty folder?"
There was something in the man’s voice that caused Bran to feel insult from it, as if the man was accusing his mother of something terrible that Bran knew about, when the truth was he knew even less than before. The man must have seen the expression on Bran’s face because he immediately softened his own.
"Well, look. Perhaps it wasn’t something that bad: lots of people have police files on them. And she was probably just another Hambric in town, right?" He gently put a hand on his shoulder, and Bran looked up. "And by the looks of you, I guess you aren’t really a shoplifter, either," the man said, sounding as if he felt bad for accusing Bran of it. Bran shook his head and the man stepped back, satisfied.
"Just for your information," the man went on, "these papers aren’t mine. They belong to the city. I’m just commissioned to store and document them, like a second job." He nodded grimly. "Goodness knows I need the extra money, as very few people in this city read books. And no one is ever allowed to look at these papers except for me, though sometimes Astara will help clean th…well, where’s she off to?"
Bran turned around and saw that the girl had disappeared, leaving the broom behind on the floor. She had to have slipped off very quietly for him not to notice. The man just shrugged.
"Probably off to clean," he said. He wiped his hands on his pants and held one out to Bran. "My name is
Cringan Highland. I’m the owner of this place."
Bran hesitated but then held his hand out, and Mr. Highland shook it in a strong grasp. He had a golden ring around his finger in the shape of a lion’s head, and suddenly Bran didn’t feel threatened anymore. Mr. Highland let go and turned, putting the empty folder back into the box.
"I know most of these like the back of my hand," he said a little boastfully. "If there’s anyone in town you want to know about, I’m the one to come to, because I read them as they come in."
Mr. Highland turned back around and gestured down the hall.
"Just remember," he said, "you’re allowed everywhere in my store, except the places that have signs telling you to keep out. Do you understand?"
His voice was grave. Bran knew why. He held his eyes from glancing at the secret door.
"Yes, sir," he nodded.
"Very good," Mr. Highland said approvingly. "Now come this way, and I’ll get you out."
Mr. Highland led him through the towers of crates. Bran, seeing the familiar surroundings, was immediately reminded of the fact that Rosie had, at some time or another, been back there, and it had been she who had started it all. He glanced about for any sign of her, but even when he came to the end he hadn’t seen her. When Mr. Highland opened the door at the end, Bran felt as
if he was coming out from a dark world, and just beyond the door was a normal bookstore.
"Very well," Mr. Highland said, letting Bran pass. "Off you go, and a very good day to you!"
Bran looked over his shoulder, about to tell him that Rosie might still be in the back room, but Mr. Highland had just finished locking the door tightly and was turning to leave. Bran decided to leave it alone, and he turned around, hoping Rosie had gotten out before, though it would have been very unlike her just to leave him there.
I hope she explains all this…he thought, but since she was Rosie he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at her, no matter how unusual she had acted. He walked a little way, back by the window where he had been before, and was just about to sit down.
"Bran!" he heard a familiar voice all of a sudden. He spun quickly, and there was Rosie, standing between two shelves a few rows away, as if she had been waiting for him all the time.
"Come here, quick!" she whispered, beckoning. He blinked, wondering what he should say to her, when she rushed over to him with a book in her hands.
"Look here, Bran!" she said excitedly, waving a book. "The Complete Encyclopedia on the History of—whatever’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!"
Bran blinked at her and stepped away. He didn’t know how to react to her for a few moments.
"Rosie," he asked. "Where’d you go?"
"Go?" she studied his face, blinking. "What do you mean, where did I go?"
"Back there," Bran pointed to the door. "You told me to follow you, and then you left."
"I did what?" Rosie’s eyes followed his finger to the door. She peered at it for a few seconds.
"Oh, no, you must be confused," she laughed lightly. "That door has a sign on it that says only employees are allowed. I’m obviously not an employee, so I’m not allowed."
"But Rosie," Bran said, beginning to feel very odd, "you were back there, and you told me to go find the box, and to open it, and—"
"Bran," Rosie broke in. "I can assure you, I never went through that door. In fact, I’ve been here with the encyclopedias the entire time we’ve been here!"
Bran blinked, but he could see in her eyes that she was telling the truth. His heartbeat quickened, remembering the voice. It was her, he knew it.
Am I going mad? he wondered, just staring at her. Rosie looked at his face for a long time, and she seemed to be just as confused as he was.
"Bran, I—" she began, but she stopped. She didn’t seem to know what to say. Then she looked over his shoulder.
"Oh, look, I think it’s time to go," she said, trying to force a smile. "They seem to be loading up without us."
Bran couldn’t make himself smile, though he tried to hide it from her. Rosie put her arm over his shoulder, and Bran simply took a deep breath and went with her to the car.
The Schweezer spluttered and popped all the way back to Bolton Road, and no one said a word the whole time. When they pulled up to the curb and got out, there was a strange feeling crawling up Bran’s spine, as if he were being watched by a hundred dark eyes, from the windows of the houses, behind the cars, in the bushes. He couldn’t lay his finger on the feeling so he pushed it away as best he could. He had been through enough fright for one day, and he wasn’t going to let it get to him any more than it already had.
"Mabel," Sewey said, digging through his pockets. "I can’t seem to find my house key."
"I’ve got one," Mabel said with a huff, leading the troupe to the front door. She stuck the key into the lock and gave it a good wrench around, but it didn’t budge. "Funny," she said. "I was sure I locked it before we left."
"I remember that," Sewey said. "Now who’s gone and unlocked it this time?"
They began to argue as to who was to blame, and it ended up being Sewey’s fault, then Baldretta’s fault, then Mr. Rat’s fault, and finally landed as Bran’s fault.
"Does it really matter?" Bran asked. "I mean, it does look awkward standing here outside our own front door."
"He’s right," Sewey said in a rush, looking up and down the street quickly.
"We’d better hurry," Mabel said, flinging the door open. "It’d be the talk of the town!"
"I can see the headlines now: ‘Wilomas Family Can’t Get through Front Door,’" Sewey said as he flipped the lights on. "It might make it right on top of Miss Grundy Reports! "
"Or it might—" Mabel started, but all of a sudden she gave a great scream and fell a few steps backward, her hands going up to her cheeks. Rosie gasped at the horrible sight before their eyes.
Furniture was overturned onto the floor, lamps were knocked down, and papers strewn everywhere. The couches were thrown about and the stairs were littered with their belongings. It looked like a troll had been set loose in the house, and all anyone could do was stand there with their mouths open and their eyes blinking at the horrific scene.
"Goodness!" Rosie squeaked.
"Great Moby!" Sewey burst.
"The burglar!" Balder said what was on everyone’s minds.
In a second, everyone was running through the house, shouting at each other from different rooms—all except Bran, who could do nothing but stand frozen in the doorway.
"Oh, my kitchen!" Rosie wailed, moving pots and pans around. Mabel rushed through the house, picking up broken vases and clocks and picture frames. Bran couldn’t even think of what monster would have done this—except the creature on the roof.
In an instant, he remembered the look behind Shambles’s eyes. He remembered the clawing, searching moves of his hands. He could almost see the creature in his mind, running through the house, tearing it up, searching for something…
"My room!" Bran gasped, and he broke into a run up the stairs, leaving the front door open behind him. He ran as fast as he could and didn’t stop until he got to his ladder, climbing up as fast as he could, his hands and feet barely touching the steps.
When he came to his room he stopped, and he looked at it, unable to say a word.
His desk had been turned over on its side, the bulb in his lamp smashed. There were pieces of paper all over the floor and his window was open with the air blowing things all around. Boxes were knocked over, pushed around, some of them ripped open with the things spilling out.
A sudden terrifying thought came to him, and he leapt forward, throwing the sheets off his bed and reaching under it, all the time hoping the creature hadn’t found his bag. His hand felt far underneath, all over, but touched nothing. He pushed his head under—the bag was gone!
His eyes searched the room frantically for any trace of it. All of a sudden, he spotted it near some boxes across the room. He dashed over and pulled
it into the light: the clasp unlocked and the bag already opened. He pushed the things around with his hand, counting them, making sure everything was there. They slipped through his fingers as he sorted them onto the floor: when he got to the bottom, his hand stopped.
"The papers!" Bran gasped. He dug around in the bag, but the paper with his name was nowhere to be found, as was the scrap Mr. Swinehic had given him. Bran went through the things twice, then a third time. But both were gone.
He slid his hands along the floor, looking for anywhere it might have blown, his mind frantic and his motions quick. His eyes swept across the floor, but came across nothing. He dug through the shreds and the boxes, searching everywhere, all in vain.
He fell against the wall in shock. Not only had he lost the paper from Mr. Swinehic, his only clue from the creature, but he had also lost the paper with his name, the only clue to his past.
"Why?" he asked himself in anger, hitting the hard floor and looking around the room.
"What do you want!?" he called out, as if the creature was there and could hear his words. His hands tightened into fists and his breath became slow and deliberate, unable to solve anything in his head and everything lost to him.
"What do you want with me?" he asked again, his voice lower.
I want you.
Bran gasped, turning at the sound in his head, his breath stopping. His heart pounded. He looked, but there was nothing; he listened, but no sound of movement came.
"W-who’s there?" Bran asked; still, silent, alert to the voice. The words had been so quick it was hardly more than a breath in his ear, by something Bran could not see or feel, almost inside of him. His gaze shot all over the room, one place and then the next. He felt the eyes again, watching him from all directions at once. He blinked but didn’t move.
He saw a rush of motion sliding to the side and turned, pressing against the wall. It was such a fleeting movement it was hardly more than a shadow of something black, going behind a pile of boxes. Bran spun, grabbing for something to defend himself. His hand came across a piece of wood from a broken crate, and he held it in front of him, nails sticking out at all angles.
