We’ve reached the sea and in front of us lies the island. It’s like a scene from a snow globe: whirling snow falls on a domed island dotted with fir trees. Thick ice stretches from where we’re standing to craggy rocks. Behind us is the tall tree I saw from the deck of the Alisha; its shadow makes a path that leads directly to the island.

“Let’s go,” I say as the three of us step onto the ice. “Let’s find the Box and get rid of it once and for all.”

We take tentative steps forward. “But how will we get rid of it?” asks Win. “I mean, we never managed it before.”

Sometimes I wish Win would keep his thoughts inside his head. “Well, we will this time,” I say. “We can take it back to Home or get Bad Dragon to eat it. We’ll think of something.”

Win puts his arm around my shoulders. “I know you will,” he says with total confidence.

We reach the island and split up. Soon our footsteps have made intricate patterns in the snow as we run backward and forward searching for the Box. We look under the trees, kick snow away from the base of rocks, and Win even climbs to the top of the tallest tree to check in the branches.

I’m just starting to wonder if I could have been wrong about this island when I hear a hear a loud crack coming from the frozen sea. A moment later a rock and some golden sparks shoot through the ice and Mitch’s face pops out of the hole. She takes enormous gasping breaths as she pulls herself onto the ice. “Blimey,” she says, laughing and sucking on her webbed fingers, “that was cold. So where’s the Box? I thought you’d have it by now.”

“We can’t find it,” says Rose, trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“Any idea where you might have put it?” shouts Win from up in the tree.

“SHHHH!” we say.

“SORRY!” he yells back.

Mitch pulls herself next to us and studies the island. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t got a clue.”

I’m just wondering when we should give up—we don’t want the snow to clear and reveal our hiding place to Crowky—when Win shouts, “I’VE GOT IT!”

“SHHHH!” we say again, but he ignores us, slithers out of the tree, and runs to a pile of rocks.

“Mitch, show us your tattoo,” says Win.

Once again Mitch pushes up her shirtsleeve, only it’s difficult this time because the fabric has frozen into stiff folds.