Dad moved forward, as if to stop me from taking it, then settled back against the mossy stone on which he was sitting. He looked worried, a slight slip in his diplomatic mask. That should have been a warning to me. But I was too eager to see what was inside the frame, so I ignored the expression on his face.

Big mistake.

Taking the frame, I opened it, and cried out in shock when I saw my mother looking out at me. Mom had died six years earlier, in a small war in Asia she had been covering for the New York Times, and I mostly tried not to think about her, because it hurt too much. Now she was smiling at me as if she had never been gone.

I closed my eyes.

“The heartmirror sends a signal that generates an image from the brain,” said Nnnnnn. “It pulls from the mind that which is deeply buried—that which you love, or fear, or wish most to see. What you see in the frame comes from yourself.”

I opened my eyes again. My mother’s face was still there, smiling at me. “It’s wonderful,” I said.

Nnnnnn’s eyes narrowed in his green face. He made a sharp gesture, almost as if he were angry. “It is yours,” he said gruffly.

My stomach tightened as I remembered Dad’s warning: “Don’t compliment them on anything they show you.”

Suddenly I wished I had read that printout. What had I just done?

The room was silent, a heavy kind of silence that I found very frightening.

“Thank you,” I said at last, nodding toward Nnnnnn.

More silence. Then Nnnnnn said, “Your pet is wonderful, as well.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

For a time the only sound in the water room was that of the water rolling down the wall, across the floor. The tension among the beings who sat around me was distinctly uncomfortable. I got the sense that they were waiting for something. I also had an idea what, but I tried to convince myself that I was wrong.

Finally Fifka’s mother leaned over and whispered, “Nnnnnn is waiting for you to offer him your pet.”

I felt as if she had hit me in the stomach.

Nnnnnn just sat there, staring at me.

Jumping up, I grabbed Ralph and ran from the room.

I was lying on my bed, holding Ralph and staring up through my ceiling—which I had set on “clear”—when my father came in. His face was dark with anger.

I ignored him and continued to stare at the moons. They were all out, one at full, one at the half, and one no more than a tiny crescent.

“Jacob, did you read that printout?” he asked.

I shook my head. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I was half-embarrassed at crying, half-hopeful that it might get me out of this mess.

Dad sighed.