Lost Children of the Far Islands by Emily Raabe

well, sipping their drinks.
    * * *
    The next morning, while Ila was drawing at Mrs. Moore’s kitchen table, the twins slipped out and went next door to their own house.
    “I checked the wolf book,” Leo said over his shoulder to Gus as they walked.
    “I figured. What did you find?”
    “Well,” her brother said grimly, “it sure wasn’t coyotes leaving those tracks. Remember the size of them, Gus? Way bigger than my hand.”
    They were at the house now. They went without speaking to the area under the kitchen window. Gus could see a few green strands of seaweed still clinging to a rough spot on the windowsill. It had not rained since that night, so the tracks would certainly still be there. Only they weren’t. The soft dirt under the kitchen window was smooth and blank. There were no prints. But when Gus knelt down, she could see that the dirt
had
been disturbed. There were long furrows cut into the soft surface, as though a rake had been drawn over it.
    “Someone wiped them out,” Leo said behind her. “And look, Gus.” He pointed over her shoulder to the right, where there was another mark in the dirt. This one was a design of some sort, a circle cut into the ground. The lines were sharp and clear, as if someone had dragged a stick through the dirt very carefully and with a lot of pressure. The circle was cut into four sections by a cross. The quartered circle reminded Gus of something,or someone—the memory hovered just outside her reach. Bending down, she put her hand out to touch the strange symbol, but Leo grabbed her sleeve and stopped her.
    “Don’t,” he said. His voice sounded strained. Gus took her hand away reluctantly.
    “We need to talk to Dad,” Leo said, sounding very unlike the easygoing brother Gus was used to. He sounded angry. “Enough secrets.”
    Leo pulled Gus to her feet and across the lawn. Gus let herself be pulled, but her head was whirling with the strangeness all around them, and something else. It wasn’t possible, couldn’t be possible, but just before Leo yanked her hand away from the circle cut into the ground, Gus could have sworn she felt heat rising from it.

That afternoon, when their father walked in the door of Mrs. Moore’s house, Leo, Gus, and Ila were waiting for him.
    “Ila’s been waking up screaming about wolves,” Leo said as soon as the door had closed.
    “Wolves,” Ila agreed, nodding.
    “I know,” their father said, running one hand through his sandy hair so that it stuck up like Leo’s. He didn’t even seem to notice that Ila had spoken. “Mrs. Moore and I have been talking about it.”
    “But what are you
doing
about it?” Gus demanded.
    “It’s just a nightmare,” their father began, but at the stubborn look on Gus’s face, he cleared his throat and said, “Tonight, guys, OK? Dinner at home, just us.”
    So that night they ate supper at their own house, with their father. In the morning he was to return to the hospital, but for one night at least, he was home and they could all sleep in their own beds. Their father atehis dinner distractedly, without looking at his food, so that every few forkfuls came up empty. Their old father would have laughed at himself, wiggled the empty fork, and made a joke about being too busy to watch himself eat. This new father just shook his head and put his fork back down to his food.
    When they finished eating, their father pushed his chair back from the table but did not get up. He seemed to be thinking about something. Eventually, he laid both his hands flat on the table. Taking a deep breath, he looked in turn at each of them: Gus, then Leo, and finally Ila.
    “I need to talk to you,” he said, “and I need you to listen closely.”
    Gus’s stomach began to roll over and she felt as though she might be sick.
Please, not Mom
, she thought.
Please, please
.
    “I’ve made a decision,” their father said. Leo nodded. Gus did not. Their father cleared his throat. “That is, your mom and I made a