The Keepers by Ted Sanders

of thoughtfulness for a moment, his mind clearly elsewhere. Horace understood at once—the girl in the green hoodie. What could the thin man possibly want with her? Was she different, too?
    Mr. Meister stirred, laying a hand on the statue. “But back to the issue at hand. This leestone is many times more powerful than an ordinary raven’s eye, and it will not fade. Take it home, keep it there, and all who live under your roof will be protected, wherever they go. Should you encounter Dr. Jericho—on the street, at your school, even outside this very warehouse—he will take no notice of you and may, in fact, even avoid you without realizing that he has done so. Unless, of course . . .” Here he paused and looked pointedly at Horace.
    â€œUnless what?”
    â€œUnless, of course, you were to do something drastic, to draw attention to yourself in some way. Or—especially—ifyou were to brandish something that was of particular interest to him.” His eyes dropped to the box.
    And with those words, the peaceful veil Horace had been wrapped in was yanked away. Sparks of anger and fear flared up inside him. Questions blossomed in his head like fireworks. “The thin man . . . Dr. Jericho. He’s hunting the box?”
    â€œHe will take it from you if he can, yes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe collects instruments like the box.” He swept his arm across the warehouse. “Just as Mrs. Hapsteade and I do.”
    â€œBut how did Dr. Jericho even know I would find the box? How did you?”
    â€œI did not know. Nor did he. Even now he does not know you possess the box.”
    â€œWhy was he after me, then?”
    â€œAs I said, he sensed the difference in you.” The old man’s voice was maddeningly calm.
    â€œWhat difference?”
    â€œYou have an affinity, Horace. An aptitude.”
    â€œI don’t even know what that means.”
    â€œLet us say you have a talent.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œThat is for you to discover.”
    Horace frowned down at the ground, squeezing the box against his belly and clenching his other fist. So many questions, and so few answers—he thought he would burst. He bent and pressed his forehead against the box, soaking in itspresence, letting the veil of easy peace begin to fall over him once again. “Okay,” he said at last. “Okay. I guess you won’t tell me more. Even if I don’t understand why .” He straightened and looked at the leestone again, gazing at the raven’s shining eyes. He reached out and rubbed the head of the bird. “Ravens. And a turtle. My mom likes turtles.”
    Mr. Meister pressed his lips together, as if he were suppressing a smile. “A happy circumstance, with Mother’s Day upon us. The leestone would be a most appropriate gift, Horace, in ways you cannot yet begin to fathom. Let me prepare it for you, and you can take it home to your mother. As for the box, it must go with you as well—but perhaps your mother does not need to know about it quite yet, yes? Nor anyone else.”
    Horace nodded but again could not find the right words. Mr. Meister puttered around and found some cloth to wrap the leestone in. He made no such offer for the glass-bottom box, and that was just as well; Horace had no intention of letting the old man touch it.
    Mr. Meister saw Horace all the way to the front door. He reassured Horace that with the leestone in hand, he would see no sign of Dr. Jericho on the way home. When he cracked the front door open, throwing a long slice of bright sun onto the dark entryway, Mr. Meister stepped into the light, closing his eyes and lifting his face.
    â€œWe don’t get much of this, of late,” he said, basking. He gave Horace a last stern look. “Remember, Horace: use thebox with caution. Whenever you use the box outside your home, you run the risk of drawing Dr. Jericho’s attention, even from a