on his right.
The street was full. No room for parking. Timothy simply stopped next to a small red sports car, shoved the gearshift into park, and turned off the engine. He grabbed the keys from the ignition. When he opened the driver’s door, a speeding truck wailed its horn as it drove by. Timothy waved an apology and climbed out of the car. Shaking, he stared up at the tall building, then crossed the sidewalk into the main garden.
Ahead, the spidery iron door swung open. Inside stood the uniformed man Timothy had met earlier that week. The man smiled, but as Timothy limped closer, the man’s expression changed. “You okay, little dude?”
“I—I need to see Mrs. Kindred.”
“Sure,” said the doorman. “Just let me give her a call.” He headed toward his desk, but Timothy didn’t wait. He crossed through the large empty lobby toward the elevator bank. “Hey, hold up, kid,” said the doorman. But Timothy had already hit the button. The elevator door immediately opened, so he slipped inside.
As the car took him swiftly upward, he worried that Jack might be visiting Zilpha’s neighbor, Georgia. Or maybe he had returned for Zilpha herself? Timothy wondered what he’d do if he found an open door, an empty apartment, signs of struggle, or worse….
Moments later, at the top floor, Timothy had to force himself to step out into the small hallway. To his relief, there was no graffiti, cobwebs, or creepy little girls waiting for him. He crossed quickly to the big black door marked 16B.
Timothy knocked, quietly at first, then harder as he waited. He began to worry that no one was home. Then deep inside the apartment, he heard the sound of barking. Long fingernails clicked against the wood floor. The little dog, Hepzibah, skittered toward him. She sniffed at the bottom of the door. Finally, the old woman’s voice, shaking and tired, said, “Who’s here, Hep?”
“It’s me,” Timothy cried. “I need your help!”
The old woman opened the door, her brow crinkled. She wore the same purple kimono he’d seen her in from the octagonal window on Ash Tree Lane, now with a green silk scarf tied around her head. “Come in,” she said immediately. “Mario said someone was coming up. But I didn’t expect …” She shook her head in disbelief. “What happened to you?”
Timothy slinked through the doorway, trying not to collapse. “Abigail’s gone. Jack … Johnson Harwood took her. He has the jawbone. He’s cursed me and her, and probably you too. He’s planning on using Abigail to charge the … corpse. We need to find her before it’s too late.”
Zilpha closed the door behind her. “Calm down, Timothy,” she said forcefully. She led him into the dining room and pulled out a chair. “Sit. Breathe.” She stared at him for a moment. “Johnson Harwood did what? Abigail is where?”
Timothy sat next to her and tried his best to recount everything that had happened. The book he’d found. The office in the library. The baseball cards. The house on Ash Tree Lane. Mr. Harwood’s confession. The Nightmarys. And finally, the dragon.
Zilpha was stunned. For several seconds after Timothy finished his story, she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe. “Abigail’s not in New Jersey?”
Timothy turned emergency-red as he admitted his betrayal. “I spent the entire day with her. We were locked in the attic together when you came to Jack’s house. We shouted and shouted, but Georgia thought it was his television.”
For a long time, Zilpha held her hand to her mouth, staring at the table. Her eyes flicked back and forth slightly. “I should have known better,” she said finally. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I thought I had settled everything when I destroyed Harwood’s trinket this afternoon. Stupid. I should have realized who I was dealing with this morning when Georgia told me he’d been here at the Mayfair. That he was her boyfriend! Quite a significant coincidence, don’t you think? And I ignored the biggest clue!” She pounded the table with her palms. “He knew I was coming,” Zilpha continued, “and he was prepared. He tricked me. I destroyed the wrong artifact.” She took Timothy’s hand, staring into his eyes. “Abigail is in serious trouble. She is somewhere in New Starkham. We need to figure out where.”
“But how?” said Timothy.
“You’ve solved plenty of clues so far. I trust there may be some left to uncover?”
“I can’t think of any.”
Zilpha pointed at the