“Mmm. Might make sense,” his grandfather mused. “Deeper spots in the mind. You’re trying too hard but don’t really know what you’re trying, so you wind up getting in your own way. You have to relax, think less.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a . . . technique I’m trying to work out. To lead me through, and kind of tune out. I’m still trying to figure it out. I don’t know if it makes sense.”

“Can but try, Alex,” his grandfather said. “But, then, there have been times when you’ve used it consciously, no?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “In Prague, on the bridge.”

The old man chewed his lip, thinking. “There’s a chance Prague might have helped you there. There are places on Earth where, ah, things can get thin, Alex. Between the world we know and—you know. Whatever else. The unknown. Some maintain Prague is one. The bridge we were on, the Charles Bridge, there are strange stories about how it was built. Theories that the whole area was all designed as a kind of alchemical equation: that the very layout of the Old Town is a magical code. A powerful place. And the presence of the golem itself, of course, seeking a master . . . All that might have helped amplify things, helped you make the connection. The distance you had to travel wasn’t so far. It met you halfway.”

“Okay, I get it. Sort of.” Alex nodded. “But there were other times. Back home, when I could use the power when I wanted it, how I wanted it. I was conscious, awake, and there was nothing amplifying it there, was there? Like, there was a boy getting beat up, and I helped him. And then someone was going to beat me up, and I made him stop. Actually”—Alex frowned—“it was the same boy.”

“Go on,” his grandfather urged.

“But then, the other night, at David’s,” Alex continued, tripping up over a new thought. “The old woman was shouting at me, and, yeah, I wanted her to stop. But I didn’t, y’know—command it. It just came out of nowhere and kept getting stronger. I mean, I was wide-awake, and . . .”

“Yes?”

“I dunno.” Alex shrugged, bothered by a feeling of having mislaid something important. He nodded determinedly. “I’ll keep thinking. I’ll keep trying.”

They came to a bare place encircled by trees. His grandfather stopped by a large mossy rock and dropped his Gladstone. “This’ll do.”

He knelt to the bag and pulled out the sack he’d collected from Harry’s, upending its contents onto the ground. Two objects fell out: complex, heavy-looking mechanical assemblages of iron and brass, thick springs, cogs and coils held together by metal links and leather straps with buckles. Grunting, he began fixing one over his boot, covering the heel.

With a start, Alex realized where he had seen them before.

“Those are . . . Wait, are those his?”