side of this room was the forbidden green door. Vivian, having been warned about the door, found herself immediately drawn to it, but she only gave it a long look before plunking down on the couch. She sorted through the pile of books and picked up a fat paperback. The cover attracted her, a picture of a knight on horseback, waving a bright sword. But flipping through the pages she found only unfamiliar words, without even a sprinkling of
was
,
and
, or
the
. She was proud of her newfound ability to read, and angry that this book shut her out.
The voices from the other room grew loud and distracting.
“Take me back,” her mother said.
And her grandfather’s voice, sad now, she thought. “No, Izzie, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can! You took me away, all those long years ago, and everything’s been wrong since then.”
“You don’t understand the danger, child.”
“Give me the globes then, and I’ll find my own way. You said they would be mine, and then you took them away, too.”
“I had to. I regret it deeply. They gave you the dream sickness, Isobel. It isn’t safe.”
“If you loved me at all, you would give them back to me!” Vivian knew all too well the rising of her mother’s voice. It meant blood. There would be another trip to the mysterious hospital for Isobel, and the aunts and uncles for Vivian. Whatever it was her mother wanted, Vivian wished the grandfather would just give it to her.
Her eyes kept turning to the green door, only a few steps away from where she sat. On the other side of the door she wouldn’t be able to hear them shouting.
Her grandfather had told her not to.
Loud sobs decided her. She hated listening to her mother cry.
Still, one hand on the doorknob, she paused, knowing disobedience had consequences.
Her grandfather’s voice again. “The reason I did what I did is because I love you, Izzie. You must understand. I was wrong to go against the rules—”
“I hate you! My life is a gaping hole, and it’s your fault. I loved him, and you dragged me away. You gave me the globes, and then you took them from me. Let me go back. I was whole there…”
Vivian slid through the green door and shut out the voices behind her.
Standing with her back to the closed door, she looked around the room. An odd assortment of objects spilled off shelves and onto the floor. Kind of like the Goodwill store, but not as neat.
A gray cat emerged from behind a shelf and wound around her ankles. Squatting on the floor, she rubbed its soft fur and it purred, butting its head against her hands. When the cat got up and stalked off with its tail in the air, shefollowed. Down a narrow aisle, careful not to touch anything. Past shelves full of books with cracked leather bindings. They smelled old and interesting, and she felt that they wanted her to open them. It frightened her to think that the books might want something, and she left them very much alone.
Farther in, she found a whirling creation of balls and wire that stood as tall as she. Here she stopped, mesmerized. Watching carefully, for a long time, she thought she could see how to move things to change the pattern. But once again, she moved on without touching.
She found weird cuckoo clocks and other things that ticked and whirred; sand glasses with different colors of sand streaming at varying speeds through the glass; a collection of carved wooden masks. She walked by all of them, stopping to look but not ever truly tempted to touch, still following the cat.
And then, at the far end of the room, sitting alone on a rough wooden shelf beneath the only window, she found the wooden box. It glowed in a ray of sunlight, satin smooth, worn with age. There were carvings on the lid—two dragons, their necks intertwined, wings widespread.
Vivian instantly coveted the box. It was made for secrets: small enough for her hands to carry, big enough to hold treasures. A tiny brass key was set in the lock.
Her mother’s voice was louder now,
was
,
and
, or
the
. She was proud of her newfound ability to read, and angry that this book shut her out.
The voices from the other room grew loud and distracting.
“Take me back,” her mother said.
And her grandfather’s voice, sad now, she thought. “No, Izzie, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can! You took me away, all those long years ago, and everything’s been wrong since then.”
“You don’t understand the danger, child.”
“Give me the globes then, and I’ll find my own way. You said they would be mine, and then you took them away, too.”
“I had to. I regret it deeply. They gave you the dream sickness, Isobel. It isn’t safe.”
“If you loved me at all, you would give them back to me!” Vivian knew all too well the rising of her mother’s voice. It meant blood. There would be another trip to the mysterious hospital for Isobel, and the aunts and uncles for Vivian. Whatever it was her mother wanted, Vivian wished the grandfather would just give it to her.
Her eyes kept turning to the green door, only a few steps away from where she sat. On the other side of the door she wouldn’t be able to hear them shouting.
Her grandfather had told her not to.
Loud sobs decided her. She hated listening to her mother cry.
Still, one hand on the doorknob, she paused, knowing disobedience had consequences.
Her grandfather’s voice again. “The reason I did what I did is because I love you, Izzie. You must understand. I was wrong to go against the rules—”
“I hate you! My life is a gaping hole, and it’s your fault. I loved him, and you dragged me away. You gave me the globes, and then you took them from me. Let me go back. I was whole there…”
Vivian slid through the green door and shut out the voices behind her.
Standing with her back to the closed door, she looked around the room. An odd assortment of objects spilled off shelves and onto the floor. Kind of like the Goodwill store, but not as neat.
A gray cat emerged from behind a shelf and wound around her ankles. Squatting on the floor, she rubbed its soft fur and it purred, butting its head against her hands. When the cat got up and stalked off with its tail in the air, shefollowed. Down a narrow aisle, careful not to touch anything. Past shelves full of books with cracked leather bindings. They smelled old and interesting, and she felt that they wanted her to open them. It frightened her to think that the books might want something, and she left them very much alone.
Farther in, she found a whirling creation of balls and wire that stood as tall as she. Here she stopped, mesmerized. Watching carefully, for a long time, she thought she could see how to move things to change the pattern. But once again, she moved on without touching.
She found weird cuckoo clocks and other things that ticked and whirred; sand glasses with different colors of sand streaming at varying speeds through the glass; a collection of carved wooden masks. She walked by all of them, stopping to look but not ever truly tempted to touch, still following the cat.
And then, at the far end of the room, sitting alone on a rough wooden shelf beneath the only window, she found the wooden box. It glowed in a ray of sunlight, satin smooth, worn with age. There were carvings on the lid—two dragons, their necks intertwined, wings widespread.
Vivian instantly coveted the box. It was made for secrets: small enough for her hands to carry, big enough to hold treasures. A tiny brass key was set in the lock.
Her mother’s voice was louder now,
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