The Secret of Zoone Read online

  “Where have you been?” Aunt Temperance asked, tucking away the pesky lock of silver hair that always seemed to dangle in her face. “Are you okay? Can I fix you something? How about a shake?”

  “No thanks,” Ozzie said, wrinkling his nose. Aunt Temperance’s shakes mostly involved vegetables. Mostly, they were green.

  She tried to reel him into a hug, but Ozzie resisted. After a sigh, she said, “We deserve something more decadent today. Ice cream smoothie?”

  “Chocolate chip swirl?” Ozzie said hopefully.

  “Definitely. But first . . . I need to tell you something.”

  That set off Ozzie’s alarm bells.

  “Your dad called last night. Late.”

  “Let me guess,” Ozzie said. “He’s staying longer in Lima.” His dad was a vice president in a giant corporation, which, as far as Ozzie could decipher, meant he spent most of his time in faraway places trying to sort out if they could be mined for precious resources.

  Aunt Temperance hesitated. “Actually, he has to go to São Paulo now and . . . Well, your mother. She was given another assignment. A very prestigious one . . . so her stay in Istanbul has been extended.”

  Ozzie groaned. His mom, Renowned Journalist Extraordinaire, was always on some assignment on the other side of the world, hoping to report on the latest international crisis.

  “Whatever.” Ozzie shrugged and made for his room.

  “What about the shake?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Ozzie, I’m trying to talk to you,” Aunt Temperance insisted. “Don’t be so recalcitrant.”

  That was Aunt Temperance for you. She could have just said “difficult,” but she liked using those big words, words with weight. Maybe it was because she worked in a library, though not the fun sort. Hers was a legal library, and though she claimed to like her job, Ozzie wasn’t convinced. She never seemed to speak about it with any enthusiasm. Then again, she never seemed to speak about anything with enthusiasm.

  “I know it’s upsetting,” Aunt Temperance ventured.

  Ozzie glared at her. Upsetting? That was the understatement of the year. But his parents were always away; that was hardly anything new. What was new was the nauseous feeling gurgling inside of him. It felt hot and poisonous. “They go everywhere,” he snapped. “And I don’t go anywhere. I’m just stuck here. With you.”

  Aunt Temperance’s expression fell. “What’s so terrible about that?”

  The right answer, the truthful answer, would have been “nothing.” But Ozzie was feeling . . . well, Aunt Temperance had said it herself: recalcitrant. “I know you don’t want me here,” he said accusingly.

  “That’s not tr—”

  “I don’t want to be here, either.”

  “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” Aunt Temperance asked, her cheeks flushing red. “I want you here, Ozzie. One hundred percent.”

  “Sure,” Ozzie sneered. He turned, stomped into his room, and slammed the door shut. At least, he tried to slam it. The apartment was so old that the door didn’t quite fit the frame anymore, so it just bounced off with a taunting creak. Ozzie had to go and prop a book against it, just to keep it closed, which kind of ruined his dramatic exit.

  He sighed and sat on his bed, feeling so . . . how had Mr. Crudge put it? Out of place.

  That’s the truth, Ozzie realized. Technically, he lived with his parents, but because they were away so often, he spent most of his time with Aunt Temperance in the cramped, run-down shambles that was Apartment 2B. Sure, he had his own room here . . . but it wasn’t really his room. Hanging on the walls were paintings and photos of people he didn’t even know.

  He heard the blender whirring in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Aunt Temperance entered with a frothing mug of chocolate chip swirl.

  Ozzie turned away. “You can’t bribe me. I don’t—”

  He was interrupted by a forceful knock coming from the apartment door. Ozzie and Aunt Temperance exchanged looks of surprise. People had to be buzzed in through the main entrance of the building before knocking on the apartment door, and that hadn’t happened. But the bigger surprise was that anyone had knocked at all; people rarely came to visit Aunt Temperance. Or, in Ozzie’s case, never.

  Aunt Temperance set down the shake and hurried out. Ozzie slipped off his bed and peeked out of his bedroom to watch her answer the door. The lock had a tendency to stick, which meant Aunt Temperance had to jiggle and pull, jiggle and pull, until it suddenly gave way. The door banged open, revealing—quite dramatically—a very peculiar lady.

  It was the only way Ozzie could think of describing her. “Peculiar” because she was incredibly tall, and “lady” because of the way she was dressed: prim, proper, and old-fashioned. Her skirt was so long that it hid her feet. She even carried a parasol.

  “Good afternoon, Tempie,” the lady said, a smile spreading across her almond-colored face. “It’s been a long time.”

  Aunt Temperance opened her mouth. Then she closed it again.

  “I wonder if you will invite me in for tea?” the lady asked, tilting her head on an impossibly long neck.

  Aunt Temperance’s silver lock of hair snuck free again. It dangled at her cheek like an upside-down question mark. After an uncomfortable pause, she slowly stepped aside, allowing the lady to duck through the door and enter the living room, which was really the only room to enter, since it was such a tiny apartment. That’s when Ozzie noticed the lady’s hat. It was so ridiculously tall that it touched the ceiling. More important, Ozzie noticed, it was jiggling.

  In a fluster, Aunt Temperance scurried to put on the kettle. She fired a sidelong glance in Ozzie’s direction. Ozzie, being fluent in Aunt Temperance, interpreted the glance precisely: “Get inside that room, close the door, and do not eavesdrop.”

  Like I’m going to miss this, Ozzie thought.

  The peculiar lady didn’t seem to notice him, so he continued lurking in his bedroom doorway, watching as she rustled across the living room. She moved carefully, with purpose, as if walking was something that didn’t come naturally to her and was only the result of a lot of practice. Eventually, she found her way to the sofa and rooted herself there. She didn’t remove her hat, but Ozzie could now see curls of hair poking from beneath the brim. They were a peculiar shade of green.

  Even though he could see the entire living room from his position, Ozzie knew he needed to have a better hiding place from Aunt Temperance. He dropped to all fours and ninja-ed his way across the room, which meant nearly taking out the lamp and bumping into the sofa. For an instant, he froze in panic. The lamp wobbled, but thankfully remained standing. Hat Lady didn’t seem to notice. Ozzie allowed himself a sigh of relief and leaned against the back of the sofa.

  Aunt Temperance returned from the kitchen without spotting him and began serving the tea.

  “It seems,” Hat Lady announced, “that someone has tried the door.”

  What? Ozzie bolted upright and nearly blew his cover. Worst ninja ever, he scolded himself, scooching down.

  “I haven’t gone anywhere near it,” Aunt Temperance said.

  “Prune me to a stump!” the lady declared. “There’s no need to deny it. But why didn’t it work? You still have your grandfather’s key, don’t you?”

  Key? Ozzie wondered. What key?

  He needed to get a better look at Hat Lady. He crawled to assume a new hiding place behind the tall, leafy plant that stood next to the sofa. Now Aunt Temperance’s back was to him, but at least he could see their visitor.

  “I have the key,” Aunt Temperance said curtly.

  “Ah,” the lady remarked, stirring an excessive amount of sugar into her cup. “You know, Tempie, there is no doubt that you possess a traveler’s heart. I’m reminded of our days in the—”

  “That was a long time ago,” Aunt Temperance interrupted.

  Ozzie scratched his head. He had never really thought of Aunt Temperance as a person with a past. Or, to put it another way, with a
life before him. He had to admit he preferred her where she was: firmly entrenched in the present, with him.

  “Indeed, you are different,” Hat Lady said, casting her eyes about the walls. Then, as if twigging to a sudden realization, she added, “Here you are, residing in Apartment 2B. To be . . . to be. What shall you be, Tempie?”

  Aunt Temperance muttered something, but Ozzie didn’t quite catch it. There was a mouse scuttling behind the sofa, right where he had been hiding moments before. Well, it looked like a mouse, though it had spots. Green spots.

  What the . . . ? Ozzie wondered. He wasn’t scared—a mouse wasn’t creepy or crawly—but it did fluster him. How typical; Apartment 2B couldn’t even be infested by normal rodents.

  “You know, a door is a curious thing,” the lady mused. “A lot like an opportunity, don’t you think? Some swing open with the slightest effort. Others have hinges so rusty that you have to tug and tease just to open them a crack.”

  “And some are locked,” Aunt Temperance grumbled.

  “Yes,” the lady agreed, taking a gracious sip from her cup. “I’d say those are the best doors; they often guard the most important things. You need a special sort of key for them.”

  Ozzie was only half paying attention; the mouse had noticed him and was now beetling across the floor, headed in his direction. He tried dissuading it with a shooing gesture.

  “Of course, it’s not enough to possess the key, is it?” the lady continued, completely oblivious to Ozzie’s predicament. “Not enough to stand at the door, jiggling the handle or peering through the keyhole, trying to safely glimpse what lies beyond. True magic only happens once you step through to the other side.”

  That caught Ozzie’s attention. He felt a shiver reverberate down his back—and it wasn’t because the mouse was now inquisitively sniffing at his sock.

  But Aunt Temperance didn’t seem impressed. “Just say what you mean, Zaria.”

  “You’re stuck,” Hat Lady said bluntly. “Tell me, Tempie, why do you live here, in this apartment? Of all the apartments, in all—”

  “This building has been owned by my family for generations,” Aunt Temperance snapped. “My grandfather left the entire building to my brother, except for Apartment 2B. He left this apartment for me. Specifically me.”

  “Yes,” Hat Lady said emphatically. “And the key, too. He believed in you.”

  The mouse began climbing up the side of Ozzie’s leg. He tried nudging it off, but to no avail. He frowned; he was pretty sure real ninjas didn’t have to deal with insolent mice.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” Aunt Temperance huffed.

  “I’ll tell you,” Hat Lady declared. “There’s only one door left open to this world—that we know of, anyway. But if it continues to be left unused . . . well, I’m afraid it will shut. Permanently.”

  Ozzie’s heart fluttered. Mr. Crudge was wrong, he thought as the mouse scurried up his wrinkled shirt, toward his shoulder. The door is special.

  “Go ahead, then,” Aunt Temperance told Hat Lady with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Use the door. Use it all you want.”

  The mouse leaped to the top of Ozzie’s head and began exploring the rain forest that was his hair. Ozzie could feel its little toes tickling his scalp.

  “You shake me to the last leaf, Tempie,” Hat Lady said. “You ought to know the door requires someone from this side if the magic is to flow.”

  “Flow of magic!” Aunt Temperance guffawed. “You sound like a poet. Or some daydreaming artist.”

  “And when did you start thinking those were bad things?” Hat Lady demanded, her voice laced with just a hint of irritation. “That’s the type of sentiment I’d expect to hear from your father. Or Braxton. Don’t tell me you’re letting that brother of yours boss you around.”

  Ozzie grimaced. His dad did boss Aunt Temperance around—all the time, though mostly over the phone. She never complained about it; usually, she just absorbed his abuse like a sponge.

  “What happened to you, Tempie?” the lady pressed.

  “You know what happened.”

  “Yes. You lost your place. You gave up on yourself.”

  Aunt Temperance snorted. “Did it ever occur to you that I like my life just the way it is? I don’t need to escape it.”

  “I’m not asking you to escape your life, Tempie,” Hat Lady persisted. “I’m asking you to live it.”

  “I think you should leave,” Aunt Temperance said abruptly.

  The lady rose slowly to her full height. A sound creaked out of her that might have been a sigh. “As you wish. I have only one last question.” Then, without turning, she asked, “Can the person eavesdropping on our conversation please show himself?”

  Ozzie didn’t budge. Think like a ninja, he told himself—only to have the mouse yank on his hair so violently that he yelped, leaped up, and sent the plant crashing to the floor. The mouse stopped yanking. Ozzie stood there, frozen, with Aunt Temperance and Hat Lady staring at him. He felt the rodent scamper down the back of his neck, under his inside-out shirt, and down his leg.

  “Only an accident,” Hat Lady chimed. “Not to worry. Come over and say hello.”

  Ozzie navigated the mess and slinked toward them, all the while hunting the floor for some sight of the mouse. He wasn’t sure Aunt Temperance would believe this was a rodent’s fault unless he could provide evidence.

  “I’m up here,” Hat Lady said.

  It was the type of tone you didn’t argue with. Ozzie looked up. Way up.

  “I believe your socks are two different colors,” Hat Lady observed, her eyes glinting with amusement.

  Aunt Temperance swooped behind Ozzie and placed her hands protectively on his shoulders. “This is my nephew. He’s none of your concern.”

  “I remember Tempie telling me about you when you were born,” the lady said. “Oswald, isn’t it? Oswald Sparks . . .” She said it as if she was testing it out, to see if she liked the sound of it.

  “Most people call me Ozzie,” he dared to say. It hadn’t worked with Mr. Crudge—well, it didn’t work with most people—but he wasn’t about to stop trying to make it stick.

  Hat Lady leaned down and scrutinized him even more intently. To have such an absurdly tall and peculiar person thrust her head into his personal space might have normally wigged him out, but . . .

  Ozzie couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was something about the way she looked at him, something elusive, something that made him feel secure. Certain. Happy, even.

  Her hat quivered, and Ozzie realized that the spotted rodent had somehow made its way up the length of her body and found its way into her hair. Then it struck him. That’s where it had come from in the first place.

  “Well, things are a bit clearer now,” the lady said, straightening. “It seems I was wrong about you trying the door, Tempie. Still, I haven’t given up on convincing you to visit us. I still have a few tricks in my trunk, you know. The secret of Zoone is awaiting you, my dear.” She fixed her sparkling eyes on Ozzie, as if to say, And you, too. Then she showed herself out of Apartment 2B; just like that, she was gone.

  Ozzie’s mind was whirling. He looked at Aunt Temperance.

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” she announced, and promptly began cleaning up the plant.

  Later that night, Ozzie awoke to hear a muffled sob coming from the living room. He crawled out of bed and peeked through his doorway to see Aunt Temperance hunched over on the sofa.

  “I can’t do it,” she murmured. Then she stood, and Ozzie saw her clutch something to her chest.

  The key! he realized. The one Hat Lady mentioned.

  Aunt Temperance headed for the kitchen. Ozzie slipped after her and watched as she stood on a chair and took an old book from the top shelf, high above the stove. As she opened the book, Ozzie could see that a large hole had been cut into its pages to form a secret compartment. Aunt Temperance delicately placed the key inside and then returned the book to the shelf.
/>   She left the kitchen, leaving Ozzie to scramble for a hiding place in the shadows. Aunt Temperance trudged into her bedroom, closing the door with the type of firm click that made Ozzie think she was closing it on something more than just the rest of the apartment.

  He crept into the kitchen and stared longingly at the book. It was very high up. A chair worked for Aunt Temperance, but it wouldn’t work for him. He’d need something much more inventive—because there were no two ways about it. He was going to get that key.

  3

  A Skyger on the Sofa

  The problem was that procuring the key very much depended on Ozzie having a moment to himself in Apartment 2B. This wasn’t normally difficult; Ozzie typically made it home from school before Aunt Temperance finished work. But Aunt Temperance didn’t go to work on Monday. She just stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  At first, Ozzie wasn’t too worried—he was used to Aunt Temperance’s moods. He made his own lunch and headed off to school, thinking mostly about the key. When he arrived at home, Aunt Temperance looked like she hadn’t stirred all day. Ozzie made toast and even tried blending vitamin shakes for dinner. Aunt Temperance didn’t eat, though Ozzie couldn’t blame her. The toast was rather burnt, and vitamin shakes were gross to begin with, let alone when Ozzie tried to make them. (As an experiment, he had tried adding marshmallows, the result of which could only be described as a disaster—unless your intention was to invent a new form of glue.)

  Ozzie figured Aunt Temperance being shut away in her room was close enough to him having the apartment to himself. Once he could hear his aunt gently snoring, he ninja-ed his way onto the stovetop and attempted to reach the book with the key. Unfortunately, all he managed to do was step on the knob for the burner, turn on the gas, and light his sock on fire.

  After that, he knew he needed a better plan.

  Tuesday came, and Aunt Temperance stayed in bed. It was the same with Wednesday. On Thursday morning, the phone rang, and Ozzie overheard Aunt Temperance telling her supervisor that she wasn’t sure when she could come in. “Maybe never,” she said. Then she returned to bed and continued staring at the ceiling.