The Specter Key Read Free Page A

golden rays of the setting sun that fell across Third Street, illuminating the sleepy shops and a lone car parked in the tow away zone. The sunlight made the car look even worse, revealing all the dents and worn paint.
    “I just remembered,” Bran said as Sewey locked the door of the bank. “I…got my bike all muddy cutting through the park on the way here. I can’t put it in the Schweezer like that.”
    “You bloody won’t,” Sewey snorted. He reached to his wrist, on which hung a thick shoestring that held his car keys, so he wouldn’t misplace them.
    “And there’s no use dirtying the trunk either,” Bran went on. He drummed his fingers on the box as he clutched it. “So I guess I’m stuck with biking all the way home.”
    “Too bad.” Sewey sniffed unsympathetically. “Next time you’ll remember to keep your mode of transportation in tip-top condition.” He climbed into the Schweezer and turned the ignition; the car let out an enormous, street-shaking rumble, coughing fire from the exhaust before wheezing to life. Then he switched gears and pulled out, rocketing down the street in a cloud of smoke.
    The moment he was out of view, Bran spun on his heels.
    “All right, you got the box to me,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know why you did it, but I’m going to find out…”
    He started for the alley next to the bank, glancing furtively up and down the street. Before, many months ago, he might have let something like this pass, but now he knew enough to be wary. When strange things started to happen, there was usually trouble lurking around the corner. He ran to his bicycle and carefully placed the box in the basket. Then he hopped on and took off down the street, the pedals wobbling and his heart pounding. He passed the highway and started down a maze of streets that took him into a quiet neighborhood: houses warmly lit, set on grassy lawns.
    A short while later, he pulled into Hadnet Lane and parked his bike in front of a two-story, white stone house in the middle of the block. He gently took the box and started to the front door, continuing to survey his surroundings as he knocked. Everything beyond it was quiet until he heard the lock slide. The door opened, revealing a girl his age with brown and blond hair, greenish blue eyes, and a black band around her right wrist: his friend Astara.
    “Oh, hello,” she said.
    Bran was still a little surprised to see her living at Adi’s house, a place very different from where he had first met her at Highland’s Books. The repairs from the fire were nearly complete, but until they were finished, Adi was letting Astara stay with her.
    “I, um…” Bran finally stammered. “I need to talk to Adi. Look at this.”
    He held the box up so Astara could see the name on the label.
    “Sewey found it in the back of the vault,” Bran said hurriedly. “I’ve never seen it before.”
    Astara read the name. Her eyes widened.
    “You’re right,” she said quickly. She locked the door behind him.
    The inside of Adi’s house looked like any other regular suburban Dunce home: decorated to the hilt for Fridd’s Day—yellow streamers hanging from the ceiling, yellow balloons arranged on the edges of furniture, even yellow flowers in shiny, gold vases on the tables. The chairs were covered with yellow blankets and yellow pillows, and on the walls, yellow flags bearing the inscription “Jolly Fridd’s Day!” in big, bold letters.
    “Getting ready for Fridd’s Day?” Bran half-joked as Astara led him up the stairs.
    “Well, it is this Friday,” she replied. “I just got home from the bookstore—we were decorating there too. He’s hoping to use it as a grand reopening.”
    “I just got out of the bank,” Bran mumbled. “But we weren’t decorating, that’s for—”
    An awful bang from upstairs, partially muffled through the floor, cut him off in mid-sentence.
    “What was that?” he gasped.
    Astara smiled wryly and pointed up the