“When my parents were alive, they didn’t seem to mind it. I’m not sure why, but it became a place they began to avoid. Maybe because it reminds them of the loss of my parents. Maybe twenty years ago, they started to shout or cry anytime I went into that room—and you saw them today. It’s a bit upsetting when there’s very little I can do to comfort them or calm them down.”

“Do you know why they started to hate it?”

“No. And after the first few times I asked, I didn’t ask anymore. They became very much like you saw them just a few minutes ago. But in the beginning, they wouldn’t enter the room; by the end, they did everything they could to stop me entering it. Why are you asking?” She didn’t look at Kaylin as she asked the question, absorbed in the act of turning disparate bits of sugar and flour into something that would, with heat, become edible.

“Teela thinks there’s something off about the room.”

“Magical?” This time she did turn, her hands messy.

“She’s not certain—but I think she’s right. There’s something about the room that doesn’t feel right.” As Mrs. Erickson began what looked to be an apology, Kaylin shook her head.

“If you ever get out of the house and head to Elani, there’s a store there run by an ancient man whose storefront looks far worse than your room. It’s not the dust. It’s not the cobwebs. Teela would barely notice those. It’s...something else. I didn’t notice it until she invoked light—but the light somehow makes portions of the room look even darker. I’d like to borrow a lamp, if you have one,” Kaylin added.

“You think the darkness is somehow caused by magical light? Give me a second; my hands are a right mess.”

Aproned but with markedly cleaner hands, Mrs. Erickson lit a lamp with a glass hood. As she walked by what she referred to as a parlor, the children came out. Jamal glared at Kaylin.

“Mrs. Erickson doesn’t have to go into the room,” Kaylin told the truculent child. “We want a light that isn’t magical in nature, and she’s carrying it. I don’t disagree with you; I don’t think she should enter the room.”

“But you can?”

“I’m the Hawk, not Mrs. Erickson. So is Teela. I think you all did a good job of keeping her away from it.” She wanted to ask the kids why, but didn’t want to see them melt down or cry in terror, so she refrained. She did, however, tap Mrs. Erickson on the shoulder and retrieve the lamp from her hands.

“I think you should go back to the kitchen—I’m sorry to have interrupted you.”