“But I didn’t have a pocket. And I knew we needed the shard to travel—”
“Then that’s it, Maisie! That shard allowed you to communicate!”
Maisie shook her head. “I don’t think so. I had it in my pocket in China and I couldn’t communicate.”
“Maybe wearing it is different than having it in your pocket,” Felix wondered out loud.
“If that’s true, then what will happen if we get separated? You won’t be able to talk to anyone, and no one will understand you. That would be a total disaster.”
“I guess,” Felix said thoughtfully, “that we need another shard.”
“How in the world are we going to get another shard? We can’t break one of the vases,” Maisie said.
“I don’t know,” Felix admitted. “But there must be a way to do it.”
“How did Great-Uncle Thorne and Great-Aunt Maisie do it?” Maisie asked. “They went to Egypt and France and everywhere. They must have both been able to communicate.”
Felix looked at her.
“You’re right,” he said. “But how?”
CHAPTER 5
THE SECOND SHARD
Slowly, Maisie walked over to the Ming vase standing on its pedestal. There was the place where her shard fit in, she thought as she traced the hole with her finger. She slipped the thread with the shard on it over her head, and carefully placed it in its spot on the vase. And there, right above it, a small hole still remained.
“What?” Felix said, watching Maisie’s face.
“Somewhere, someone had another shard,” she said. “We just have to figure out who.”
“And where,” Felix added, staring at the hole in the Ming vase.
“Obviously, it’s either Great-Uncle Thorne or Great-Aunt Maisie,” Maisie said. “They must have needed it to time travel, too.”
“I guess we should go into their rooms and search?” Felix said, not wanting to go into either of those bedrooms. Great-Aunt Maisie’s made him sad, and now with Great-Uncle Thorne in the ICU in the hospital, it seemed wrong to snoop around his room.
“I’ll take hers,” Maisie volunteered. “And you can look in Great-Uncle Thorne’s.”
“Okay,” Felix agreed, even though he got a pit in his stomach at the idea.
Resolved, Maisie put her shard back around her neck and headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Felix said thoughtfully.
“Stop delaying!” Maisie said.
Now Felix walked over to the Ming vase.
“When you put your shard back, there’s only one other piece missing,” he said.
“So?”
“That means Great-Aunt Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne only needed one shard to communicate when they time traveled.”
“So?” Maisie said again, more frustrated. Sometimes Felix’s cowardice was endearing. But sometimes—like now—it was maddening.
“So we already have one shard, and that’s all we need,” Felix explained. “What we have to figure out is how one shard lets both of us understand another language and speak it, too.”
Maisie considered this. He was right. Somehow one shard worked for two people. But how?
“Maybe we have to be touching each other or something,” Felix said, thinking out loud.
Maisie shook her head. “That can’t be it. Remember, we spend time apart, like in China when we were separated.”
“Maybe we should hold hands when we touch the object,” Felix said.
Maisie winced.
“So that we’ll be sure to land together,” he told her, insulted.
“But what about if we get separated later?” Maisie protested. “Like in London when you were in the workhouse—”
Felix shuddered. “Don’t remind me,” he said.
“There has to be something we’re missing,” Maisie said, walking back into The Treasure Chest and staring at the small hole in the vase.
Felix stifled a big yawn. “Why don’t we just sleep on it,” he suggested.
“Okay,” Maisie said reluctantly, “but every minute we wait keeps Great-Uncle Thorne in that ICU.”
Despite how tired Felix was, when he got into bed he couldn’t sleep. He tried counting backward from one hundred. He tried deep yoga breaths, which his mother claimed always put you to sleep. He even tried naming all the states alphabetically. But all he did was get from one hundred to one, breathe a lot, real slow and deep, and name forty-four states, which left him frustrated and more awake because he couldn’t figure out which six he forgot.
Warm milk, Felix thought. His father swore by warm milk. Tryptophan, his father claimed, even though his mother said that was an old wives’ tale.
Felix got out of bed and made his way down the long hallway to the Grand Staircase. Elm Medona was definitely creepy at night. He didn’t like the shadows or the way everything—clocks ticking, floorboards creaking, even his own footsteps—echoed. He walked faster, gripping the bannister as he started down the stairs.
Something caught his eye, stopping him midway.
A strange glow emanated from the wall.
Felix swallowed hard and tried to keep himself from trembling as he moved slowly toward it.
Surely it’s just a trick of light or shadow, he decided.