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  Holly took a soft step in the parrot’s direction.

  It flapped its scarlet wings and screamed again, though it kept a firm grip on the key.

  “I’m sorry,” Holly whispered, as if the bird could understand her. “There’s a nice parrot. Are you someone’s pet? I do still want the key. So why don’t you just give that back to me?”

  It was a choice, after all. A choice about what you decided to believe in. That sounded like something Mr. Gallaway would say.

  “He’s the one I should talk to, isn’t he?” she said, trying to keep the parrot’s attention while she stepped a bit closer. “He’d know how to fix the lock on the oak tree.”

  The red bird blinked. It edged away from her along the tree branch.

  “What does stupid Brittany King know about anything, anyway? The highlight of her summer will be finding toenail polish to match her swimsuit. That’s right, isn’t it, parrot?”

  Holly’s feet made no sound as she crept toward the beech tree, her voice almost as quiet. She cocked her head, keeping only one eye on the bird. She had read once that human eyes were threatening; fixed so close together, they were the eyes of a predator.

  “I’m not a predator, am I?” she whispered.

  Almost there. She could reach out and touch the bird now, but if she startled it, she’d never see her key again. Then a thought occurred to her.

  “I have something even better than that old key,” she said. She reached slowly into the corner pocket of her jeans and drew out a quarter. “Look, it’s all new and pretty.”

  The bird’s eyes flitted down to the coin in Holly’s fingers, then back up to her face.

  “It’s all yours. Look, I’ll just leave it right here. . . .” She eased her hand up to the branch and slid the quarter into a shallow knot. The parrot sidestepped away from her, hunched, and tensed its legs.

  It was about to take off.

  “No, wait!” Holly cried. Her hand dove into her pocket. Amazingly, the parrot paused. Hastily, she dropped a second quarter into the hollow. It was like dealing with a capricious vending machine.

  “Caw,” said the parrot softly, and dropped the key onto the ground.

  Holly’s shoulders sagged. The parrot snatched up the quarters and launched itself into the forest canopy. The sun glinted off its feathers, and Holly smiled, flooded with relief. She retrieved the key from the soggy grass.

  She wasn’t quite ready to give it up after all.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  The Five Elements

  Everett Shaw stood in the back garden of Number Seven, Hodges Close. Glancing along the flagstone path through the spitting rain, he could just make out the hollyhock-covered arbor of Number One. He noted with satisfaction a plume of smoke curling up from the cottage chimney.

  Holly and Ben had finally returned.

  Everett opened the picket gate of Number Seven and peered into the screened-in porch attached to the house. He half hoped, as he always did, to find the oak chest that he had seen only once among the tables of seedlings and garden tools. It was the chest that held all of Mr. Gallaway’s secrets, but Everett had never seen it after that time last summer, when he’d taken one of the large iron keys stored inside.

  The key—the wand—that Avery had stolen from him.

  Everett went through the porch and knocked on the kitchen door. It opened at once, as if the old man had been watching him through the window. He raised his bushy white eyebrows in question. “Yes? What is it?” he said finally, while Everett stood there, shifting from foot to foot.

  “I . . . I brought back those loppers Mum borrowed from you.” Everett held up the pruners.

  “Very well, just put them there on the table.” Gallaway jerked his grizzled chin toward the porch.

  Everett did as he asked.

  “Something else?”

  “No, I . . . I guess not.” Everett glanced down at the oak table, at the rectangular shape in the dust. A shape big enough for an old iron chest.

  The old man grunted. “I suppose you’ll want a cuppa. Come in then, if you must. Mind you don’t drip on the kitchen floor.”

  Everett followed him into the cozy kitchen. Everett had grown almost an inch this year, and now he was a bit taller than Gallaway. The old man made a great show of assembling cups and saucers and teapot, as if he were being put to great inconvenience and didn’t use them every day. He poured tea and opened an ancient-looking tin of shortbreads, pushing them in Everett’s general direction. “So?” he said, his eyes looking a bit softer. “How is your mum? Feeling better?”

  Everett shrugged. His mum wasn’t ill, exactly, but she had her good days and not so good days. Sometimes she was all bubbly and flitting about the house and making puddings. She seemed quite cheerful when Everett had told her about the Shepards coming back to Hawkesbury. But this morning she had deflated like a leftover balloon. She’d gotten the post and there was no check from Dad, which was already two weeks late, and that always put her in a mood. “Okay, I guess,” he said to the old man.

  “You give her that herbal tea like I told you?”

  “Yeah, I think it did her good. She’s run out now.” Everett pushed the shortbread around on his plate. He didn’t know how to ask what he wanted to; it wasn’t as if Gallaway really liked him. It was Holly he liked talking to, and she had only just arrived in the village. “Have you . . . I mean . . . been walking in the wood lately?”

  “What, in this rain? Not fit for man nor beast.”

  “I just thought . . . you know. Since Holly and Ben’re back . . .” Hang it all, why did Gallaway have to be so hard to talk to? Holly said she’d told him everything about last summer, their time in Anglielle, Avery’s betrayal, Everett jousting with the magic wand that had been one of Gallaway’s keys. The wand Everett wasn’t supposed to have in the first place. Maybe that’s why Gallaway was so cross. He must know that not only had Everett stolen one of the magic keys, he’d lost it. Well, a prince had taken it, but it came to the same thing.

  “I have not seen Holly, nor any of the rest of the family,” said Mr. Gallaway testily. He pulled out his raggedy red handkerchief and blew his nose. “I’d stay out of the wood if I were you. The stream is sure to be running high. Now, if you don’t mind, Everett, contrary to popular belief, I do have things I ought to be tending to.” The old man stood up, plucked a small pouch from a cupboard shelf, and handed it to Everett. “Give this to your mother. And come round again when she’s out.” Without another word, he grabbed his plaid cap and walked out, letting the door slam behind him. Everett was quite sure he’d done that deliberately.

  When Holly emerged from the forest, it was already raining again. Up the hill, puddles dotted the back garden. The mist enshrouded Darton Castle. Holly checked the leather scabbard. The weight of the key inside calmed her.

  She followed the flagstone path along the back gardens of  Hodges Close. At the end of the path, she peered through a screened porch and smiled. Sheltered from the rain, the old man was stacking his seed catalogs.

  “Come in out of the wet, if you’ve a mind to,” he said without looking up.

  Holly opened the door at once and shook off the chill. After a minute the white-haired gardener put down his catalogs and gave her a half smile that extended to his deep-set blue eyes. He held out one liver-spotted hand. “I am happy to see you, Miss Holly.”

  “Me too,” she said, shaking the hand. Then, throwing off her manners, she hugged him tight.

  He coughed and turned away from her, sniffing. “Yes, well. Cuppa tea. Come inside.”

  She hung up her poncho inside the kitchen door while he gathered cups and teapot. “I wasn’t sure we’d get back here,” she said. “Ben and I’ve been at camp since June.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Mr. Gallaway poured her a cup and set the bowl of sugar cubes next to her. “Your Everett has been hanging about the place, asking for you.”

  Holly felt her cheeks turn pink. “He’s not my Ev
erett. He’s Ben’s friend, mostly.”

  “And yet.”

  Holly watched a sugar cube dissolve in her teacup. “I wondered, Mr. Gallaway, if you had any idea how I could fix the lock on the oak tree. To get back into the glade.”

  The old man fished out a tattered red handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed his sharp nose. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you still have it?”

  Holly knew what he meant. She pulled out the heavy iron key and handed it to him. “It’s not the one you gave me, you know.”

  Mr. Gallaway held the key up to the light, turning it this way and that. “No. But it will do. Look here.” He pointed a trembly finger at the four loops of the clover-shaped handle. “Do you see? The four elements.”

  Holly had never really noticed it before. Along the edge of each of the four loops a tiny symbol was etched into the iron: a spiral, a circle with an S shape through the center, a teardrop bisected with a vertical line, and two squiggly lines. “Those are elements?” Holly said doubtfully.

  The old man traced the teardrop. “This is fire. It looks like a flame, you see. And water, like the waves in the ocean. Do you see earth?”

  “The circle? Like a globe?”

  “Yes. Follow the seasons clockwise: Fire is followed by water, then earth, and finally air. If you recall, you last visited the glade at the festival of Midsummer.”

  “The season of fire,” Holly said.

  “Correct.”

  She rubbed the water symbol with her finger. A cold wave washed over her, like goose pimples, but very wet. She looked up; was the ceiling leaking? But the plaster, like her hands, was dry.

  “If one were to go in order,” the old man continued, “then the element of water would hold the answers you’re looking for.”

  That didn’t make a lot of sense. “But the water season would be fall,” Holly said. “It’s summer now. It’s not like I can come back and try again in three months.”

  Mr. Gallaway chewed on a shortbread he’d fetched from a tin.

  Holly traced her finger around the cloverleaf. Then she remembered something she’d read. “But, Mr. Gallaway, aren’t there five elements?”

  “Ah. The aether. Not all the alchemists acknowledge it. But it is always there, in the center.” He pointed to the diamond-shaped hole where the key’s four loops joined. “While invisible, it unites the rest. It is the most crucial element of all, that of spirit. And spirit, you may know, has no season. Or rather, it is all seasons.”

  A wild clap of thunder rattled the windowpanes. Outside, the rain fell in cataracts down the wavy window glass. Water. Somehow, water would take her home.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Coming Together

  By the next morning, the Shepards had settled in at Hawkesbury. Holly’s father drove her mother to the train station in Kingham and then retreated to the sun porch to work on several tedious-sounding writing assignments. Holly had hoped to visit the glade again by herself, but her brother, Ben, was already awake, his face buried in a bowl of something called Coco Shreddies.

  “Everett just texted me,” Ben said. “He’s coming over. You’re not sneaking off on your own, are you?” He nodded toward the backpack. “We’re in this together, remember?”

  “No, it’s just . . . doesn’t Everett kind of bother you sometimes? He did steal that wand—the key, I mean—from Mr. Gallaway. And he never even admitted it, or said he was sorry.”

  “So what?” Ben’s face was turning red. “Anyway, you don’t know what it was like in that castle. If it hadn’t been for Everett—”

  “You’d probably be dead,” a voice said from the back garden.

  “Everett!” Ben pushed Holly aside and opened the screen door. “Finally!”

  Holly glared at Ben as the boy in the garden came inside and greeted him. Everett had grown a little, though he wasn’t more than an inch or two taller than Holly. He was a year ahead of her in school, with unruly, reddish-brown hair and a rather nice face, at least when he was telling the truth. He gave her a half smile and held out a paper bag. “Brought you some scones. I think you like blueberry, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling briefly. “Thanks.” It was awkward, seeing Everett again. He was all right, she supposed, but she never was sure she could trust him.

  “So how’s your year been? I thought you might e-mail or something.” Everett sat down at the table.

  “I figured Ben was doing that,” Holly said, ignoring the hurt look on his face. “Plus, I had to use the computer so much for school . . .”

  “She’s a technophobe,” Ben said through a mouthful of blueberries. “It means—”

  “Yeah,” Everett said, grinning. “I get it. But listen, have you gone back to the wood at all? I’ve been to that glade a dozen times this year, and I can’t even see the lock on the oak tree. But then, you’re the one who really knows how to work it.”

  Holly smiled. Okay, so he was being decent. Maybe he was just embarrassed about his theft. They were all older now anyway. “Remember, you can’t see the lock unless you’ve got the key with you,” she said, then explained what Mr. Gallaway had told her.

  “That’s pretty useless information,” Everett said shortly. “How’s water supposed to help us, exactly?”

  “How should I know? It’s just what he said.”

  “At least he actually talks to you,” said Everett. “He’s fine if I need to borrow a rake or something, but as soon as I mention one of you, he has someplace to go. He acts like I’ve done something to him.”

  “Well, you did—” Holly started, but broke off when Ben glared at her. But Everett did steal something from Mr. Gallaway: Was it any wonder he wasn’t very friendly?

  “Anyway,” Holly went on, “maybe the three of us can figure it out. Something to do with water.”

  “I guess it’s worth a try,” Everett said, sounding unconvinced. He stood up.

  “Wait a second,” said Ben. “If we’re going to the forest, and if we might find our way back to Anglielle, I’m getting some stuff together. For one thing, this time, I’m taking way more underwear.”

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  W Is for Water

  For all of their preparation—packing backpacks, changing shoes, remembering compasses and pocketknives and Tylenol (“Trust me,” Ben said, “we’ll need it”)—Holly didn’t really think they’d get very far. Especially when, as soon as they entered the forest, a loud crack of thunder boomed overhead.

  “Not again,” Everett said, sounding nearly as whiny as Ben. “It’s been raining nonstop for weeks here.”

  “Well, it is England,” Ben said.

  “No, but it’s never been like this. We’ve hardly had a dry day all summer. It’s like a ruddy monsoon all the time.”

  As he spoke, the wood darkened. The rain descended in sheets.

  “I told you a mac was a good idea,” Everett said.

  A gust of wind tugged at Holly’s poncho as she struggled to put it on, and another crack of thunder shook the trees at the same time a bolt of lightning lit up the gloomy wood. Suddenly the forest was alive with noise—the rain pounding on every leaf and trunk, the constant rumble of near and distant thunder, the stream churning like river rapids somewhere nearby. “Everett!” Holly yelled, grasping her hood around her face. “It’s not safe!”

  “We should go back!” Ben agreed.

  “No, wait. Over here!” Everett dashed ahead and took cover between two broken trees crisscrossed over a rockfall. The overhanging vines formed a small cave. Holly and Ben ran in after him.

  Inside it was steamy with three wet bodies. Holly wrung out her long braids one at a time and wiped her glasses dry.

  “We’re just asking to get hit by lightning.” Ben pushed back his spiky black hair. “Holly, try working a juju on the rain.”

  “It’ll pass,” said Everett. “It always does.”

  Holly blushed. She was a little afraid to use her key in front of the
boys, but it vibrated impatiently in its scabbard. She pulled it out. Closing her eyes, she visualized desert sands and camels and cracked ground, pushing the images through her heart into the key. A warmth in her chest traveled down her limbs into her hands, and the cold iron crackled hot beneath her fingers.

  The thunder stopped, right in the middle of a rumble.

  Holly’s eyes flew open.

  The rain had calmed to a light mist. The forest brightened, and the wind died down. What had been a raging storm was now just another drizzly day in Britain.

  “Ha!” said Ben, ducking out of the cave. “What’d I tell you?”

  “Like I said. It always passes.” Everett stepped out and started back down the muddy hill.

  Holly lagged behind as the boys walked on. Was Everett right? Was it just another coincidence? If it was, why was she furious with him?

  “That wasn’t just the storm passing,” Ben was saying as she caught up. “That was magic.”

  “Whatever,” Everett said.

  Holly skidded a bit down the hill. “You’re the one who wanted us to come here. Do you believe in this stuff or not?”

  “I’m just saying not everything is magic.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Ben, stepping between them. “Let’s just keep going, okay?”

  They trudged through the dripping wood, the only sound the squish-squish of their boots in the mud, until the drizzle gave way to intermittent sunlight. Holly halted at the stream, which was even more engorged than it was the day before.

  “That’s the tree bridge I found.” She pointed downstream.

  “Oh yeah,” said Everett. “I’ve crossed that way loads of times.”

  “Of course you have,” Holly muttered.

  Her cumbersome poncho slowed her down, and the boys got farther and farther ahead. At one point it snagged on a thorny shrub. She yanked it free and lurched forward. Her boot sank into the muck and stuck fast. “I’m coming!” she called ahead, though no one answered. Typical. She grabbed the loops of the boot and braced herself against a sapling, preparing to yank her foot free. But something caught her eye in the gurgling water.