36.

Timothy pounded on the door, and Abigail kicked at it. For almost a minute, they shouted for Jack to come back up and let them out, even as Timothy realized how foolish they were being. As if the old man would really change his mind. They leaned against the door, exhausted and frightened. Timothy spent several seconds trying not to say “I told you so.”

Finally, Abigail turned to him and said, “Well, at least now we know.”

“Now we know?” said Timothy. “Know what?” He was shocked that Abigail could sound so matter-of-fact.

“Everything, pretty much,” she said. “And when you know stuff, you can use it against people.”

Abigail laid the puzzle pieces out. Jack had said the cards were a clue his father had given him years ago. A code. Christian Hesselius had gotten his hands on a copy of the Zelda Kite Mystery and used it to pass the code to his son. The writing in the book’s margins might have been the last message Christian had ever given to his son. That was why it was so important that Jack retrieve the book from Timothy’s gym locker.

“Right,” said Timothy. “A few months ago, when the college opened the wall in the library, Jack learned that the code opened the safe in the bookshelf. He finally had access to his father’s journal. The journal must have revealed the location of the jawbone.”

“Well, we know it was at the museum,” Abigail said. “Would Christian have donated it to such an obvious place?”

“Sometimes the hardest things to see are what’s right in front of your face.”

Abigail considered that for a few seconds. “Jack was at the museum during our field trip. Right? You saw him standing in that hallway. He watched everything that happened. Knowing I was angry with each of you, he cursed you and Stuart and Mr. Crane. Since he probably cursed me just after I moved here, he made me think that what was happening to all of you was my fault.”

With all this cursing, the tooth’s battery must be growing weak, thought Timothy.

Abigail continued. “The Nightmarys. If I didn’t go with them, each of you would only get worse and worse. The Nightmarys never came to visit. Jack just wanted me to think they had.” She paused. “What I don’t understand is, how did he know the Nightmarys would have such power over me?”

“You said it yourself back at the library,” Timothy answered. “The jawbone gives the user the ability to read the victim’s mind. He got inside your head, influenced you, pushed the curse in a certain direction.”

“Is Jack doing the same thing to Stuart and Mr. Crane? And you too?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s not pushing us so much. The curse seems to work differently on different people, doesn’t it? Maybe it depends on how you handle your fears? Maybe Stuart and Mr. Crane just freeze up, let it get the best of them? I know when I get scared, I have to do something about it. Maybe that’s why I’m not stuck in a psycho ward.”

Abigail lit up. “I can do that too,” she said.

“What? Go to a psycho ward?”

“No, dummy. Handle it. Do something. Jack said something like ‘I fear the place where my end will come.’ And he’s right. I do fear that. But how do I stop it from happening?”

“Maybe if we can figure out the place he’s talking about, it won’t seem so scary?”

Abigail closed her eyes and sighed. “I see a dark place. It’s wet and cold and I’m alone.” She looked at Timothy, distraught. “I don’t know how to not be scared of it.” Timothy took her hand, and she continued, “I wish we could ask my grandmother. She’s always been so good at this kind of thing. And this is all about her. Isn’t it? That’s why she kept calling it her mess. Jack wanted to hurt her, so he came after me.”

“In the Zelda Kite books, though,” said Timothy, “she always beat the bad guy in the end, right?”

“Yeah.” Abigail’s eyes blazed. She leapt to her feet. “I never got a chance to read those books, but I’m pretty sure she kicked his butt.”

Outside, tires crunched on gravel and an engine turned off. Timothy and Abigail glanced at each other, then ran to the octagonal window. At the curb, a champagne-colored Cadillac had parked. As both the driver’s- and passenger’s-side doors opened, Abigail gasped. “What the …?” she said.

“What’s the matter?” said Timothy. “Who is it?”

Abigail turned to look at him. She wore a look of pure horror. “That’s Georgia’s car.”

“Who’s Georgia?” Timothy strained to see.

“My next-door neighbor,” said Abigail. “Oh, no!” At that point, she didn’t need to explain. Wearing a bright purple kimono, Zilpha Kindred had conspicuously climbed out of the passenger door and stood in the middle of Ash Tree Lane, staring curiously up at the house.