Willow sat up, stunned, almost unable to catch her breath.

  “Oh my god. Ash! I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  “What?” he repeated.

  “I think I found your wolf.”

  She sat beside her brother. “Look,” she explained, fingers moving expertly.

  WHILE THE CHILDREN SLEPT and the faucet dripped, Daisy remained ill at ease. The dog rose, stirred, pawed at the blanket, circled, plopped down again. Sighed the way only a dog can sigh. With its whole entire being.

  Unable to rest.

  She was upset by the scratching in the walls.

  The strong smells therein.

  Creatures clawing, scratching, scraping, gnawing to get inside.

  The growling and yowling and howling in the near woods.

  The low voices in the trees.

  Daisy stood and patrolled the baseboards, sniffed the walls, inhaled all the scents and nocturnal activities. Imagined what was haunting the grounds outside, growling in time to the night’s mystic music.

  Something dark and ominous out there. Creatures big and small. Alive and undead. Daisy knew it and was afraid.

  If she had the words, Daisy would say: The sharp-toothed wolf prowls the grounds.

  Daisy had seen enough of Exit 13 Motel.

  It was time to go …

  First chance she got …

  Home.

  THE WOLF CAME again that night. Ash awoke to its claws clicking on the cement pathway outside. So he rose and slipped out into the night. Shutting the door behind him, he glimpsed Willow asleep in bed. Mouth open, one arm dangling down. Daisy lifted her head, watched with alarm as the boy left the room.

  No wind stirred. To his left, he saw the high-shouldered wolf saunter past the rooms toward the office at the far end of the building. Its bushy, black-tipped tail hung straight down. The wolf paused and looked back over its shoulder at Ash through almond-shaped eyes as if to ask: Are you coming? Ash waited, dazed and entranced, his hand still on the doorknob. A hundred thousand pinpricks of light crowded the night sky. Finally the creature turned … and walked through the closed door … right through it! … and was gone.

  Ash walked past the row of rooms until he came to the unnumbered door. It was impossible but, also, true. Ash saw what he saw. He felt the knob. This time, it was left unlocked. He cautiously pushed the door open. He stood motionless, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Entering the room, he made certain the heavy curtains were closed. He went to the standing lamp in the corner and, pulling on a cord, risked the light.

  The bulb gave off a warm glow.

  Ash instantly saw that the room was empty. If he had been correct—if the wolf had truly entered through the door—somehow it was here no longer. Still, he smelled it—the musky, foresty odor of a wild animal. The room was unlike the other guest rooms. At least, the ones he’d seen—rooms 15 and 16. Ash assumed they were all alike. This room had no bed, for starters. In the corner to his right, there was a large stuffed chair beside a free-standing reading lamp. The lamp was old-fashioned, with a metal pole. The shade was made of stained glass. There was a small table with an empty water glass and book. Bookshelves stood along the back wall from floor to ceiling.

  The only other piece of furniture was a large wooden wardrobe. Ash opened it. The closet contained empty shelves, along with a bar for hanging clothes. Oddly, there was a ceramic bowl on the floor, filled with water. Ash shut the doors. He stepped back to examine it. The piece did not make sense; it was an odd, boxy object to cram into a small room. Ash noticed small clumps of dirt on the carpet, clearly made by footprints. Human footprints. He moved deeper into the room, opened a door, and found the bathroom. It smelled of ammonia and was sparkling clean. So that was it. A library—no, a reading room—and a clunky wooden wardrobe that took up far too much space. Ash’s attention returned to the bookshelf. Along the left panel, the image of a leaping wolf had been carved into the wood. The wolf was jumping over water, which was depicted by curving lines. Above it, a constellation of stars and planets.

  He picked up the book under the reading lamp. It was large and heavy. The cover showed only bold capital letters stacked oddly:

  THE BOO

  KOFLIM

  INA

  LSPAC

  ES

  There was no author’s name.

  A code? Ash wondered. Words squished together? The spaces in wrong places?

  He puzzled it over in his mind. The book of …? Limi? Limin?

  In a … spaces?

  Liminal spaces?

  Ash had no idea what that word liminal even meant. Was it a real word? He’d have to look it up later. He flipped through the pages, noting chapters that read: “Passageways and Thresholds,” “Transitions,” “Visitors from Beyond,” “Susurrations and Whispers,” and “Unanticipated Dangers.”

  A scrap of paper fell out of the book and onto the floor. Ash bent to pick it up. Someone had hastily scribbled in ancient cursive, THE KEY: WHAT SENSES DO WE LACK??!!

  Ash set the book back down. He returned to the carving of the wolf. It felt significant somehow. Meaningful. He ran his fingers over it, touching the wolf’s snout, sharp upturned ears, long limbs, powerful paws—when, click, the wardrobe door opened behind him.

  Ash froze in fear. He stared at the door, half expecting someone to step through it. Nothing stirred. Finally Ash pulled the door all the way open. The closet was transformed. No shelves, no rod, no water bowl. It had all vanished. But on the floor, there was a thick metal ring. A nylon cord was attached to it, knotted at the end. A secret hatch built into the floor!

  Footsteps sounded from outside, heavy boots on cement.

  Ash scanned the room, heart hammering. Where to hide?

  At that instant, perhaps in response to Ash’s question, the book’s pages began to flutter. But there was no wind in the room, no ceiling fan, no breeze. Still the pages fluttered and flicked and finally flew open to a new spread. Ash stepped to the book, craning his neck to read. There was so little time. The footsteps drew closer. The chapter read, “The Art of Camouflage.”

  The footsteps stopped. A key entered a lock.

  Ash closed his eyes, tilted his head up, and felt his tongue roll back into his throat.

  His heart slowed.

  He breathed through the pores of his skin.

  It felt as if he were reptilian, a desert creature disappearing into itself.

  The door opened.

  Kristoff stood at the entranceway. His eyes searched the empty room. A finger went to his tooth. “Mother?” he whispered. “Mother? Are you in here? Answer me, please.”

  He frowned at the freestanding lamp. Kristoff strode to it and abruptly turned off the light with a sharp tug on the pull string. The room plunged into full dark. Kristoff sighed with weariness. Ash could hear the tiniest sound, and he felt the ripples of air swirl around him. Kristoff hissed, stepped back outside, and yanked the door shut.

  Ash was alone again.

  And somehow, amazingly, he was also invisible.

  Camouflaged like a chameleon.

  Once again he smelled it. The near, musky odor of wolf.

  Minutes later, after he returned to his normal self, Ash fled the room. He felt frightened and disoriented. What had happened to him? What was this place? In his haste, Ash left the book behind. I won’t tell Willow, he told himself. Not yet. No, I won’t tell anyone … for now.

  IN THE MORNING, Ash lingered in bed, thinking about the night’s events. The room, the book, Kristoff, and the wolf. Had he truly turned himself invisible?

  Willow sang in the shower, loudly and badly. She came out, drying her hair with a towel. “You all good, LB?” she asked cheerily.

  “What? Oh sure, peachy,” Ash answered.

  Willow said it was time to take Daisy out to do her business. It was part of the family arrangement. Let the parents sleep. There was a strip of grass, just downslope, that had become her spot. They stood around, dawdling, waiting for Daisy, who seemed intent on sniffing every rock, plant, and blade of grass.

  From the far end of the building, an older Korean man dressed in jeans and a sturdy blue button-down shirt, sleeves folded up to the forearms, pushed a cart with one hand. He lugged a wooden ladder under his other arm. The man moved slowly but gracefully, walking lightly on the balls of his feet.

  He wore headphones and might have been bouncing along to a hip-hop tune. “That must be the famous Mr. Do,” Willow murmured.

  Ash followed his sister’s gaze. The man was thin and not tall, with a lean jaw and short gray-black hair. The cart contained a large garbage can and other items—a vacuum, a whisk broom, towels, sheets, and cleaning supplies. “You’ve met him before?” Ash asked.

  “No, um,” Willow said absently, “Kristoff mentioned him. Some kind of handyman who helps out around the place.”

  “Seems so.”

  “I like his name: Mr. Do.”

  Seemingly unaware of being observed, the maintenance man knocked on the door of room 15. Receiving no answer—the room was empty after all—he took out a set of keys, knocked again, this time pulled off his headphones, called out something they couldn’t make out, and opened the door.

  It felt odd to see a stranger enter their room. But moments later, he exited with a small garbage pail. Mr. Do dumped it into the large gray bin and returned the empty pail with a new plastic lining to the room. He moved on for another few steps, then stopped in his tracks. He stared down at the ground. Looked left, looked right, as if to make sure no one was watching. He bent down and picked up a piece of hose or rubber or—

  Mr. Do tossed it into the bin.

  Before Ash could form the question, Willow asked out loud, “Was that a snake? Did Mr. Do just pick up a pretty massive snake and throw it in the garbage? Let’s check it out.”

  She tugged the leash and Ash followed.

  Mr. Do saw the children coming, half dragging a reluctant dog. He again set down the ladder. “You must be room fifteen?”

  “That’s right,” Willow said, smiling. “Our parents are in room sixteen, next door. My name is Willow, and this is my brother, Ash.”

  Mr. Do nodded politely. “And your dog’s name?”

  “Daisy,” Willow answered. “I know, it’s not original. We’re kind of bad at naming things. I once had a gerbil named Cornflakes.” She paused. “Sorry, Daisy can be a little nervous around strangers.”

  Mr. Do’s eyes brightened. He reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a dog treat. “It’s an old mail carrier’s trick. Better to make friends than get bitten.” He offered the treat with an open palm extended forward, but Daisy would not come near. The old man laughed, a mirthful, rolling chuckle. “No treat? There’s a first time for everything!”

  Willow furtively peered into the garbage bin. It was a snake after all. A dead snake about the width of a thin child’s arm and twice as long. The old man noticed her gaze. He reached down and covered the snake with stray papers.

  “Do you usually find snakes around here?” Ash asked. It was the first time he spoke. The man gave Ash a long look and shrugged. A non-answer.

  Ash continued, “It just seems weird that—”

  “I left a note on the desk in your room. I’ll come back later to fix the faucet. Probably just need to replace a washer. This afternoon or tomorrow. We’ll see. Will you be staying with us long?”

  Daisy barked, twice, in protest of the idea.

  “Another day, maybe two,” Willow said. “My father hurt his neck.”

  “Hmm,” Mr. Do said. “Some people, you’d be surprised. They stay a long, long time. Who knows why.” He looked wistfully down the line of motel room doors. Each door represented a task to do. He bent to lift the ladder. Things to do, places to be. He smiled, gave the slightest bow, and began to move on.

  “Did you happen to fix the vending machine?” Willow asked. “That monster ate my money.”

  Mr. Do raised a finger, eyes twinkling. “It works perfectly now. But be gentle with it. No banging, pushing, punching, kicking.”

  Ash gave Willow a soft push. “Of course. We only do that to each other.”

  Mr. Do scratched the back of his neck. As if the thought had just popped into his head. “A word to the wise. Stay out of the woods behind the motel. It’s not safe.”

  “Why not?” Ash wondered aloud.

  “Just—” Mr. Do said sharply. He caught himself, softened his tone. “The Whispering Pines are a part of a vast preserve. Behind us, there’s town. But in that direction the wilderness goes back fifty miles. No roads, no rangers. The only trails are made by deer, moose, coyote, bear. Very easy to get turned around in there. It’s happened before. A person could enter and become lost forever.” He looked at Ash, raising a closed fist. “Poof,” he said, opening his hand as if he’d just released a luminescent firefly. He looked up to the sky. “Gone forever. Just stay out of the woods.”

  A low rumble came from Daisy. She seemed to be working herself up to an actual growl. A rare thing for a goldendoodle. Mr. Do noticed. “Your dog doesn’t care for me.”

  “Daisy’s just nervous,” Willow explained, soothing the dog with a gentle hand. “It’s her first motel experience.”

  “Yes,” Ash agreed. “She hasn’t decided whether to trust you or not.”

  Mr. Do met Ash’s comment with a curious stare. He finally smiled and opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. “A wise dog,” the man said. “One must always be cautious in whom they place trust.”

  The children watched him go. Willow hugged Daisy, consoling the frightened dog. “Shh, shh,” she said. “It was only mean old Mr. Do. You’re safe with us.”

  “Hmm,” Ash said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, Will,” he replied. “Something about that guy seems off.”

  “Daisy didn’t like him, that’s for sure,” Willow said. “Did you get a look at that snake?”

  Ash shook his head. “No, he covered it up too quickly. Why?”

  “I can’t swear to it,” Willow said. “But I’m almost positive—it had two heads.”

  “I’M BRINGING YOUR FATHER into town for the MRI appointment,” Mrs. McGinn announced. “It might take a while.”

  Willow and Ash shared hopeful sidelong glances.

  Noticing this, their mother said, “On second thought, maybe I should insist on bringing you two along. It doesn’t feel right to leave you here on your own.”

  “Mom,” Willow protested. “Don’t make us sit in a medical building all day. That’s, like … cruel and unusual punishment. Besides, I’m thirteen. I’ve been babysitting for the past two years. If I can handle the evil Plankster twins, I can sit around here for a few hours, easy.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Ash agreed. “Besides, I want to start reading that graphic novel you gave me about the Apollo missions. It looks really interesting.”

  It was a smart move, playing the book card. Mrs. McGinn was a school librarian. She would basically cut off her right arm if it would get her children to read. She checked the time on her phone. “Okay,” she relented. “You two stick together—don’t leave the grounds—and no quarreling. Understand? Call me if there’s a problem.”

  Not knowing what the future held—or what dangers they would soon face—Willow and Ash made promises that they intended to keep. A small tremor shivered through their bodies. A few hours of freedom. No one to tell them what to do. A few minutes later, they waved goodbye, promised once more to behave, took the ten crisp singles their father had given them—and hit the vending machine, hard.

  Ash took a moment to research liminal space on Willow’s phone. He quickly read through a few definitions. In architecture, it meant “the physical space between one destination and the next.” An in-between place. On Wiki, it was described as “the ‘crossing over’ space—a space where you have left something behind, yet you are not fully in something else. A transition space.”

  “Come,” Willow said.

  Ash quickly thumbed the screen blank.

  “I see that new girl,” Willow said. “Let’s go meet her.”

  Outside the fenced-in pool, there was a small pavilion with two picnic tables, a crumbling shuffleboard court, and the built-in grill where the McGinns had feasted the previous night. The girl who had arrived the previous day, Justice—Juss, for short—sat alone at one of the tables. She had a pad of drawing paper and a small plastic case with art supplies. Her crutches leaned precariously against the table.

  “Hi,” Willow said. “This is Ash, my brother. I’m Willow. Do you mind if we sit down with you?”

  Justice’s eyes twinkled, and she beamed a wide-open, dimpled smile that shone like a lighthouse into a wine-dark sea. “Sure! Do you like to draw? I have extra paper if you want.”

  “I’m not very good,” Willow admitted, accepting the offer. “Horses just about killed me. I couldn’t draw a horse to save my life. They all ended up looking like sad dogs.”

  Justice laughed. “It takes practice. I like unicorns—a lot—too much, my dad says—he says I’m obsessive—so I’m actually pretty good.” She talked quickly, the words pouring forth in a torrent. She opened her pad, hastily flipped through the pages, and held up a drawing of a unicorn in flight.

  “Wow, you are good,” Willow exclaimed. “I love the colors.”

  The three children drew quietly. Or not really. Willow and Ash were quiet—but Justice, they discovered, was an enthusiastic conversationalist. She talked a lot. But it was nice, hearing her voice, the gentleness of her thoughts. All the ideas in her head seemed to be battling it out to see which one could first escape from her mouth. After a short while, Justice’s mother came out to scope out the situation, smiling when she saw the three kids all sitting together. She quickly disappeared, emerging a few minutes later with a big bowl of green grapes for everyone to share.

 

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