Doll Bones by Holly Black

she’d said and also what she hadn’t said. “Did you find the ashes before or after you dreamed about Eleanor Kerchner?”
    “I’m going whether you both come or not,” Poppy said, snatching the burlap bag out of his hand. He guessed that meant she’d found the ashes first. “Whether you believe me or not, I’m going to bury her like she wants.”
    Getting on a bus in the middle of the night to a place they’d never been was daunting. It also seemed a little bit like an adventure.
    “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’ll come.”
    Alice looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. He wondered for the first time if she’d been planning on him saying no and hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d say yes. If so, she probably should have told him.
    “I’ll come,” he continued, “so long as you both promise not to ask me about the game or why I don’t want to play. Okay? No more hassling me about it.”
    “Okay,” said Poppy.
    “Okay,” said Alice.
    “Okay,” said Zach.
    “You need to get ready fast,” Poppy said. “And leave a note so your parents don’t freak out. Just tell them you got up early and that you’ll be back tonight.”
    “And you’re sure the bus will get us back in time?” Alice asked. “You’re positive?”
    “Yes,” Poppy said. “I planned it all out. Just bring food and supplies, okay, Zach? We’ll meet at the mailbox in twenty minutes.”
    She switched off the flashlight and, for a moment, the shed was plunged into darkness.
    Zach blinked, willing his eyes to adjust. By the time they did, Poppy had put away the Queen, so at least her terrible head with its winking eye was hidden.
    Zach walked home through the hushed streets, his sneakers wet with dew from the frosted grass. There was a kind of quiet that hung over the world in the middle of the night, as though there was no one else awake anywhere. It felt ripe with magic and endless possibility.
    He snuck back into his house and stood for a long moment in the dark kitchen, a feeling of great daring swelling his heart. When he finally went to the cabinets, he felt as though he was provisioning himself for one of those epic fantasy quests—the kind that required a lot of jerky or something called hardtack that he’d read about soldiers eating during the Civil War and which he thought might be a kind of bread. His mother didn’t have either of those things, nor did she have elven lembas, which had kept Frodo and Sam from starving on the way to Mount Doom and always made him think of matzoh (which his mom also didn’t have). He did find a can of orange soda, a package of saltine crackers, three oranges, red Twizzlers, and a jar of peanut butter, all of which he stuffed into his backpack.
    In his room, Zach changed into jeans, switched out his sweater for a zip-up sweatshirt, and packed a few other random things he thought he might need: twenty-three dollars (twenty of which had come from his aunt in a card for his birthday), a book identifying poisonous plants (in case they needed to live in the wild and eat berries, which admittedly seemed like a remote possibility), and a sleeping bag that was a little too small for him but worked okay as a blanket when completely unzipped. In the hall closet, he found a flashlight, and he picked up a garden spade from beside the back door.
    Before he left, he wrote out the note and propped it up on his bed. It read:
Got up early. Gone to play basketball. Might not be back for dinner.
    Might not be back forever, he thought, but didn’t write.
    As he left the house, closing the door quietly behind him, he wondered, for a moment, again, if this was a trick. A lie. Poppy’s attempt at one last game.
    But the ashes had seemed real, he reminded himself.
    In the end, he wasn’t sure if he went because he half believed in the ghost already or because he was used to following Poppy’s lead in a story or simply because leaving allowed him to run away and still believe he could come back.
    If he