Always October by Bruce Coville Page B

familiar to me, had been engraved around the outer edge. Within that ring were four circles, each about the size of a penny. They had been marked with black enamel (or something) so that one circle was solid black, two were half black and half silver, and one was only a thin outline, so that the circle’s interior showed all silver. They were equally spaced, with the black and the silver circles opposite each other. The two half-black circles—also opposite each other—had their silver sides pointing outward, toward the edge of the disk.
    Mounted at the very center of the disk was a black arrow, something like the hand of a watch. Jacob put a finger against it. The arrow moved easily, clicking into place each time it pointed at one of the symbols.
    â€œWhat is this thing?” I asked.
    â€œDon’t have a clue,” he replied. “It’s cool, though.”
    He slipped it into his shirt pocket—it just barely fit—and we turned our attention to the envelope.
    â€œYour turn,” Jake said, handing it to me.
    Working slowly, I started to loosen the flap on the back.
    â€œWhy are you taking so long?” asked Jake impatiently.
    â€œWe might need to reseal it. I’ve had a lot of practice doing this with mail from social workers and teachers.”
    When I finally had the flap loose, I said, “Hold out your hand.”
    Jake did as I asked, and I turned the envelope over.
    An old-fashioned key fell into his waiting fingers. It had a long barrel and a flat head, making the shape a little like a hangman’s ax. The “blade” had notches cut out to match whatever lock it went to.
    I felt a chill ripple down my spine.
    â€œThe key to the family mystery?” I whispered.
    â€œI don’t know about that,” replied Jake softly. “But I’m pretty sure it’s the key to the top floor of the tower.”
    â€œWhat’s up there?”
    â€œMy grandfather’s office.”
    â€œYou don’t mean it’s been locked ever since …”
    â€œPretty much. Dad told me that Gramma Doolittle used to go up there the first year after Arthur disappeared. Then one day she locked the door and never went up again. He said he thought she threw the key away. I wonder if he was wrong.” He smiled at me. “Shall we give it a try?”

12
(Jacob)

THE TRUE KEY
    â€œW owza!” Lily exclaimed when we entered the guest room, which takes up the second floor of the tower. “This is beautiful!”
    â€œThanks,” I said, accepting the compliment on Mom’s behalf. She keeps the room in perfect condition, as if overnight company might drop by at any time. Lace curtains cover the window. The four-poster bed is topped by a beautiful handmade quilt she swapped a large weaving for. The inner wall is dominated by a huge painting.
    Lily instantly went for the painting.
    â€œFantabulastic,” she said, in a hushed voice.
    The picture is strange, by most people’s standards, so it was no surprise Lily liked it. It shows a huge mansion at night, the towers lit from behind by a full moon. A light shines from one window. A dragon is coiled around one of the towers.
    â€œIt was painted by Tia,” I said.
    â€œI wonder if it has any secret messages,” replied Lily.
    â€œNot that anyone has ever hinted at,” I said. “Dad told me about the picture in the hall—I just never figured it out. Come on, let’s try this key.”
    I had moved to the door that opened on the stairs to the next level. When Lily joined me, I passed her the baby, then inserted the key in the lock.
    It turned easily.
    The door swung open without a sound.
    The stairwell was dark, but not so dark you couldn’t see a scattering of cobwebs. I started up the steps.
    â€œWait a minute, Jake,” said Lily. “There’s something weird here.”
    â€œHuh? What are you talking about?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Something