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  Oliver darted across the hall and poked his head into the bedroom he shared with Lucy. She was still asleep upside down in his bed.

  “Come on, Lucy, wake up!” he shouted, his voice cracking, and with a gasp, Lucy bolted upright.

  “The animals!” she cried, looking around, and Oliver knocked on the dresser beside the door.

  “Hey, you’re still dreaming. Come on, we’ve got a bunch of errands to run!”

  Lucy nodded groggily and rubbed the sand from her eyes, and then Oliver ran back outside and into the carriage house—he’d almost forgotten about the gas cans. There were six, so it took him three trips back and forth to load them onto the truck.

  When he was finished, Oliver stood for a moment gazing out at the Shadow Woods at the bottom of the driveway. He couldn’t tell if the trees there were any closer, but all that didn’t seem to matter anymore. At least not now, with the sun shining and his cheeks hurting—not from the acorn dust, he realized, but because he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Ten

  The Caretaker

  The second longest day of Lucy Tinker’s life began and ended with the same thought:

  The animals!

  Lucy awoke worried sick about them. Had Torsten and Meridian waited all night for her to return with the food? Did they make it back to their hiding spot before dawn—and before Tempus Crow had a chance to snatch them? Lucy shivered.

  “Some caretaker I am,” she muttered, slipping on a T-shirt. She could just kick herself for being so stupid. Her plan had been to return with more food after Oliver fell asleep, but incredibly, Lucy fell asleep first! And look at the time—8:09 according to her brother’s watch on the nightstand. The animals were already wooden again!

  Lucy threw on a pair of shorts and hurried barefoot through the house and into the library. Torsten and Meridian were nowhere to be found, but Lucy noticed the box of Froot Loops she’d thrown away the day before was missing from the wastebasket. She remembered seeing it just before the animals came alive at midnight, so Lucy figured that they must have taken the cereal back to their hiding spot.

  “Sorry I didn’t bring more food,” she shouted, hoping the animals could hear her. “I waited for Oliver to fall asleep, but I fell asleep first.”

  Lucy slumped into the big leather armchair and looked around. It was another beautiful day, but it was still early, so her windows didn’t look as magical as they would later on, when the sunlight hit them just right.

  Funny. When Lucy first saw her windows, she had wished the house was magical. But now that she knew it was, Lucy sort of wished it wasn’t. It was a huge responsibility being the caretaker of a normal house, never mind a magical one—even if it was just for the summer.

  Lucy closed her eyes and sank deeper into the chair. She was exhausted, and her thoughts were all muddy—not to mention she could still hear the clock ticking in her head. The clock was the answer, but the Garr was the problem. The clock was good, the clock was light, Torsten had said. But the Garr, a ten-foot-tall tree man who lived in the Shadow Woods, hated the clock and wanted the house for himself.

  Lucy opened her eyes and gazed out the window. The Garr lived in the Shadow Woods, yes, but Blackford House was built from shadow wood. So was the clock—or at least, so were the animals that used to power it. And if Torsten was right and it had been Lucy’s magic that had started the clock ticking again last night, then maybe the shadow wood in the house absorbed the goodness of the people who lived here—which meant the Shadow Woods couldn’t be all bad.

  This was Lucy’s theory anyway, and one that she had come up with while she was lying awake the night before. The clock, she realized, had started ticking when she was trying to do good, when she was trying to take care of the animals. If only her brother hadn’t had that nightmare and distracted her. Poor guy. Lucy had never heard him scream like that, but still, talk about bad timing.

  Either way, one thing was certain: once the clock was fixed, things would be better for everyone. The light would return, and the Garr would go away. The animals would be safe, her father would get his money, and Mr. Quigley could move into the house and become its caretaker.

  Did Mr. Quigley know the house was magical? The way he was acting yesterday, he must know something is up. But the animals didn’t know who he was, which meant he probably didn’t know about them either. And then there was Lucy’s father.

  Lucy decided not to tell him the truth just yet. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. Parents never believed their kids when it came to things like talking animals and monsters in the woods. And in the movies, when grown-ups got involved in anything magical, they either messed things up or tried to make money off the situation.

  Oliver, on the other hand, might believe her. But Lucy thought it best not to tell him anything until she got permission from Meridian. Lucy needed the cat’s trust if she was going to help the animals. Things might even work out better if she kept her mouth shut. Her father would fix the pendulum and then Lucy would get the clock ticking with all the good deeds she did for the animals. She was their caretaker, after all.

  Just then the soles of her feet began to itch. Lucy scratched at them, and scraped off some black dust that had clotted between her toes. Lucy sniffed her fingers.

  “Oh no,” Lucy moaned. It was the acorn dust. She recognized the smell, like burning leaves, from when she’d helped Oliver wash the dust off his face the day before. She must have stepped in it somewhere. And now her fingers were itching, too.

  Lucy quickly retraced her steps back through the house and into the kitchen, where she found a small patch of dust on the floor near the door to the servants’ hallway. There were also some smudgy footprints leading away from it. Lucy quickly washed her feet at the sink with a dish towel and then wiped up the dust from the floor. Her feet and her fingers were driving her crazy now, and the thought of having to wait to get some calamine lotion made her feel even crazier.

  “Sunstone cream,” Lucy muttered, remembering the jar from the day before, and she hurried back into the library. Lucy pulled the jar from the bookshelf and read the label aloud. “‘For counteracting the effects of shadow wood,’” she whispered, and unscrewed the lid. The grayish goop smelled even worse than she remembered, but Lucy rubbed some of it on her feet anyway, and the itching stopped at once. Lucy sighed with relief, and in the next moment heard her father’s truck sputtering to a start out front.

  Honk, honk, honk!

  Lucy returned the jar to the bookshelf, quickly grabbed her flip-flops from the foyer, and joined the others in the truck. As soon as Lucy slid into the backseat, Oliver held his nose and winced. Lucy’s cheeks grew hot.

  “Yeah, well, if someone didn’t spill acorn dust on the floor for me to step in, I wouldn’t have had to use that sunstone cream to stop my feet from itching!”

  There was a brief round of arguing. Lucy’s father reprimanded her for messing with “snake oil,” and Oliver defended his use of the acorn dust. Even Lucy had to admit his forehead looked amazing. Oliver then explained how that Teddy kid had given him another acorn this morning and that it had turned to dust when he’d entered the house.

  Lucy wondered if Teddy and his father knew anything about the Garr. They lived in the Shadow Woods, after all—which meant maybe Meridian could be mistaken and there was no Garr, just that traitor Tempus Crow. Either way, before Lucy could think of a way to ask Oliver about it, her father said: “Maybe I should speak to Mr. Quigley about getting some scientists over here to check things out. Who knows? There might be some money in this for all of us.”

  Lucy pressed her lips together tightly. This was exactly why you couldn’t tell grown-ups about things like magic and stuff. They always wanted to make a buck off it.

  As the truck sputtered down the driveway and into the woods, the conversation between Oliver and her father got a little too technical for Lucy’s taste—something about perpetual motion and the atmosphere and the right kind of mainspring—and by the time they cr
ossed the stone bridge at the rocky stream, she had completely tuned them out.

  Lucy closed her eyes and laid back her head. The wind felt good on her face, and for the next twenty minutes or so, she drifted in and out of sleep as her father and Oliver continued to talk about the clock—their voices disjointed at times and far away. Every now and then Lucy’s eyes would flutter open to the trees or a farm or a low fieldstone wall rushing by. But then Oliver said something that really caught her attention.

  “Mr. Quigley can’t expect us to build one of those, too. Heck, I doubt he could find anyone who makes cuckoo birds that big.”

  Lucy’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up straight. The cuckoo bird—Tempus Crow—she’d forgotten to make sure the mechanical room door was closed!

  Lucy’s heart began to hammer as she scrambled for an excuse to turn back. Her mind was a blank, and before she knew it, they had reached civilization and her father swung the truck into a Home Depot parking lot. Lucy groaned in frustration. There was no way her father would turn back now. What was she going to do?

  The next few hours were excruciating. The trip to Home Depot wasn’t too bad, but then her father and brother dragged Lucy to an old junkyard, where they took forever looking for parts for the custom winding mechanism. After that, the Tinkers headed toward the coast for some clam cakes. Lucy was so on edge that she barely ate, but neither her father nor Oliver noticed. They were too busy talking about the clock—not to mention, Oliver had his own problems. His face had broken out into a rash and was itchier than ever.

  “What did I tell you about messing with snake oil?” Mr. Tinker said with a mouth full of clam cake. Oliver tried to suck it up, refusing his father’s offer to pick up some calamine lotion. But after a quick visit to the supermarket and a stop to fill up the gas cans, Oliver couldn’t take it anymore and they swung by the drugstore. Oliver started applying the calamine lotion as soon as he was out the door, and by the time the Tinkers arrived back at the house, Lucy thought his face looked like a pink frosted cupcake.

  Lucy bounded out of the truck, into the house, and up the stairs to the clock, where she found the mechanical room door closed. Lucy nearly collapsed with relief. She’d been worrying all day for nothing.

  While her father and brother unloaded the truck, Lucy put away the groceries, making sure to set some aside for the animals. Then she began tidying up the library. Her plan was to leave some food by the fireplace after the others went to bed. The fireplace seemed the most likely place for the hiding spot because that was the direction from which the animals appeared to be coming when she’d first found them. Lucy had just finished sweeping the hearth when Oliver appeared in the library doorway.

  “I think I used too much a-corn dust,” he said, voice cracking. He sounded on the verge of tears. “The calamine lotion isn’t working.”

  Lucy smiled, and without a word, retrieved the jar of sunstone cream from the bookshelf and rubbed it all over Oliver’s face—twice. The first time was there in the library; the second, later that evening, just before Oliver got into bed.

  His itching cured, Oliver fell asleep quickly. A short time later, Lucy heard their father snoring in his room.

  Lucy stuffed her pillow under her sheets to make it look like her body just in case Oliver woke up—that’s how prisoners in the movies always tricked the guards when they escaped. Then she hurried out into the kitchen and began preparing the animals’ food, which consisted of more tuna and Spam, as well as some beef stew and a half loaf of white bread.

  Lucy wasn’t sure how many animals were in hiding, so she set out six bowls and a plate for the bread in a bright spot of moonlight near the fireplace in the library. Lucy had also worn Oliver’s watch just to be safe, and at precisely five minutes till midnight, she announced:

  “I’ve brought you some food. I hope it’s enough, but if not, I’ll be in the parlor so I don’t see your hiding spot. Just let me know if you need more.”

  Lucy cocked her ear, hoping that this act of caretaking might start the clock ticking again; but when nothing happened, she slipped out of the library, slid the doors closed, and sat down in the parlor. A shaft of moonlight was hitting the painting above the hearth in such a way that Roger and Abigail Blackford looked like zombies, and the black smudge in Abigail’s arms looked like a tiny ghost. Lucy’s skin crawled.

  Our beloved son, Edgar . . .

  Lucy dropped her eyes to her brother’s watch—11:57, 11:58, 11:59—12:00! Lucy sat forward in her chair and listened, and a moment later heard what sounded like one of the bowls scraping against the hearth in the library. The animals!

  Lucy padded over to the library and pressed her ear against the doors. Munching sounds, and an oink-oink coming from the other side. One of the animals must be the pig that went in the clock’s eight hole. Lucy tapped on the door gently.

  “It’s me, Lucy,” she said. “Do you need me to bring you more food?”

  A moment of tense silence, and then some whispering and another oink-oink.

  “But she can help Fennish!” Torsten said—Lucy recognized his voice—but who was Fennish?

  More whispering, some rustling and the clank of dishes on the hearth, and then Meridian said, “Come in.”

  Lucy slipped into the library and closed the doors behind her. The cat was sitting atop the chemistry table.

  “We need your help,” she said, nodding at the hearth, and Lucy spied four animals. In addition to Torsten, there was a pig, a rabbit, and a large rat lying on its side in the shadows. One of its eyes was closed, and over the other was a leather patch. The poor thing was wheezing and breathing rapidly.

  “We found him in the parlor last night after you went to bed,” Torsten said. “Tempus Crow snatched him over a week ago. He must have escaped and made it back into the house through one of the secret passageways—”

  “Fear . . . fear sows the seed . . . ,” the rat moaned.

  “He’s delirious,” Meridian said. “Was going on like that last night, too.”

  Lucy knelt and placed her hand on Fennish’s side. She could feel the rat’s heartbeat, but his breathing was shallow, and there were three long, blood-caked gashes running parallel to his emaciated rib cage.

  “Please, miss, do something!” the rabbit whined, and the pig cried: “You’re the caretaker, aren’t you—oink-oink!”

  “Quiet, you two, and let her think,” Torsten said, and Lucy leaped to her feet.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying out. Lucy closed the doors behind her and dashed through the house into the kitchen. She slung a dish towel over her shoulder and filled her father’s coffeepot with water. She also grabbed the rack and burner he’d been using on the stove, a book of matches, and a small battery-powered lantern, and then carried everything back into the library, where again she closed the doors.

  The animals watched her closely, their eyes wide and twinkling as Lucy lit the burner and set the pot of water to boil on the metal rack above it. Then she knelt beside Fennish and examined him more closely in the light from the lantern. His grizzled muzzle was caked with blood, and his wounds resembled claw marks. The rat was panting harder now, and on his breath Lucy caught a whiff of burning leaves. It was a scent that reminded her of—

  “The acorn,” Lucy muttered, her eyes landing on the jar of sunstone cream on the table. Tempus Crow had taken Fennish into the Shadow Woods, and sunstone cream was good for counteracting the effects of shadow wood. Maybe, just maybe . . .

  A moment later, the water began to boil. Lucy soaked the rag in it and cleaned Fennish’s wounds. Then she gently applied the sunstone cream. The rat twitched and moaned, and then suddenly, his wounds began to sparkle and glow.

  Everyone gasped, and in the next moment, the sparkles dissolved and Fennish’s side was completely healed.

  “Thank you,” he croaked, peering at Lucy through one half-open eye, and then the rat passed out.

  Meridian rushed over to him and pressed her ear against his sid
e. “He’s exhausted. But his breathing is normal and his heartbeat steady. He will live.”

  Lucy sat back and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “You did it!” Torsten exclaimed, hopping into her lap and licking her cheeks. “Nessie—Reginald—what’d I tell you? Miss Lucy is the caretaker!”

  “Hooray for Miss Lucy!” the rabbit and the pig cheered, jumping around.

  “Leave it to lucky number seven to escape the Garr,” Meridian said, gazing down at the rat fondly. “Rest well, old friend, and then you shall eat.” Meridian turned to Lucy. “You have done well. Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you!” said the pig. “My name is Reginald Eight, by the way—oink!”

  “And I’m Nessie Three,” said the rabbit, wiggling her ears. “Thank you, thank you, Miss Lucy!”

  “You’re welcome,” Lucy said. “But Meridian is right. Fennish will need to eat something—but only a little at a time at first until he gets his strength back. That’s the way Mom had to eat when—”

  Lucy’s heart squeezed. She’d been so caught up in things over the last couple of days, she’d hardly thought about her mother at all. The animals blinked back at her expectantly, and Lucy forced a smile.

  “Er—anyway,” she said. “How did Tempus Crow snatch him?”

  “Fennish was the one who brought us food after we went into hiding,” Torsten said. “Being a rat, he knew how to use the secret passages better than any of us.”

  “The house showed us the hiding spot and other passages after the clock stopped,” Meridian said. “As if it knew what was coming and wanted to protect us.”

  “But still, it couldn’t save Fennish—oink! The house tried, but that old clocksmith blocked his way, and Tempus Crow snatched him—oink-oink!”

  “Is that how Fennish lost his eye?”

  “Oh no,” Torsten said. “Little Eddie did that to him years ago.”