But it was too late. She scooted next to him and flipped through pages, pausing occasionally with comments like “Oh! Look at how blue this one is!” and “Henry, look! It’s a pirate bird!” and “Can I buy one of these at the pet store?” This clearly wasn’t going the way he’d expected. He must have been crazy to think she could help.

“OH!” She stopped abruptly, her trembling finger pointing to a page. “This one scares me.”

She was pointing to a vulture.

Henry took the book from her and laid the bad feather on the page. The colors matched well and the shape was right. “That’s the one, Henry. That’s the bad bird.” Her sparkle had gone, replaced by concern. “You should throw it away, Henry,” she told him in a way that wasn’t so much a suggestion as it was a command.

“I’m not throwing it away.” It was a clue to the mystery surrounding his father’s odd behavior.

“You have to.” She stood, her hands clenched at her sides. “You have to throw it away, Henry.” Her voice rose and her back stiffened. “Throw it away or I’m telling Mom!”

“Calm down,” Henry pleaded as he recalled his mother’s words: Don’t upset your sister. “Here, look. I’m putting it away.” He tucked the feather into the book at the vulture page. “I’ll throw it away later, okay?”

Brianna’s eyes opened wide. Her body trembled. “You’re lying!” she shouted. “You don’t understand!”

Henry reached for her to calm her down, but she quickly sidestepped his grasp, then angrily flung the tent flap closed as she ran away yelling, “Mommy!”

He flopped back down, panicky and confused. What was it about that feather that had set her off like a firecracker? He reflexively reached for his wand with one hand while pounding his forehead with the other. The wand grew noticeably warmer as Henry’s grip tightened around it and he became more agitated. Brianna’s voice carried as far as the entrance flap, the cloth barrier acting as a muffler, changing her words into garbled noise. What was she telling Mom?

The air inside the cave became a slurry, thickened with heat. He tensed up and gripped the wand even tighter. Had he not been so concerned about getting caught, he would have noticed the clear veins of the wand beginning to glow.

Voices approached the cave entrance. A small wisp of smoke curled off the tip of his wand, adding a tinge of sulfur like a snuffed-out match. When Brianna’s small hand appeared and grabbed the entrance flap, he snapped. His impulse to lash out radiated through his body, ran down his arm, and flared into the wand.