As soon as Maren and Amos stepped off the bus, the hammering rain caught them, instantly soaking their clothes. Swiping water out of her eyes, Maren surveyed her surroundings. Nobody went to this part of town anymore. Tucked in a hollow between the hills, it had been a popular area for locals when Maren’s mom was a kid, but over the past few decades more and more people had been unable to find year-round jobs and had left town. The businesses here had either shuttered for good or moved closer to the touristy waterfront, leaving empty parking lots and dusty shells of buildings.

The black clouds overhead were almost low enough to touch, and the wind sheared through Maren’s drenched sweatshirt. Shivering, she checked the address on her phone again and pointed across the street. Between a boarded-up penny arcade and a pizza restaurant with rotting leather booths, a chain-link gate closed off a long driveway.

“There,” she said.

As they crossed the road, Amos stumbled and fell to his knees. Maren helped him up, and he gave her a sheepish grin.

“Thanks.” He tried to wipe the water from his jeans, but it was pointless. They were both soaked to the skin.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Maren peered up at the imposing metal gate and shivered again. Something glinted at the foot of a post, and she stooped to pick it up. Another hairpin.

“Gran-Gran’s here,” she said, tucking it into her pocket.

A padlock held the gate shut tight, so she began to climb the slick fence, making sure not to look down until she was over the top and halfway down the other side. Amos climbed faster than Maren, but as he swung his leg over the top, his backpack snagged and he almost fell.

“Careful!” Maren held up her arms to catch him, but Amos would crush her if he did fall. He unhooked his bag, then climbed down much more slowly.

“Are you okay?” asked Maren.

“Yeah, just a little…winded.”

Maren had seen Amos run soccer drills for hours without getting remotely winded. She crouched beside him and wiped beads of rain from his forehead. Amos’s cheeks were a greenish shade of gray; he turned his head away and spat.

“What the heck is that?” he yelped, pointing to a prickly, red-berried bush in the parking lot behind the pizza place.

Maren squinted at the plant. “Japanese barberry.” She’d collected the plant’s thorns and berries a few times for dreams. “Why?”

“I thought it was moving.” Amos shook his head as if to clear it out. “Must’ve been the rain.”